Not Fade Away
by Jael the Scribe
Summary: First place winner, MEFA 2007. A modern day woman lands a job that is too good to be true at a mysterious toy company. Things are not as they seem. Has she strayed into a dream? Drama humor. Characters: All the usual Mirkwood suspects and an OFC.
1. Prologue

Summary: A modern day woman lands a job that is too good to be true at a mysterious toy company, where things are not as they seem. Has she strayed into a dream? Drama; humor. Characters: All the usual Mirkwood suspects and an OFC. Rated PG-13 for innuendo and naughty language. AU

Disclaimer: The characters and the world of Middle-earth belong to JRR Tolkien. I merely borrow them for a time. I am making no money from this. Beta-reader for this story is IgnobleBard. Le hannon, Bard!

**Not Fade Away**

**Prologue: Fourth Age 483**

Iris Fairbairn came out of a deep dream in the bedchamber of her tiny cottage on the edge of the Downs near the Tower Hills. Iris wiped the sleep from her eyes and looked around the darkened room to see what might have disturbed her rest. She was a proud, sensible woman who could trace her lineage back to Elanor, the daughter of Samwise Gamgee, and she was not given to the sort of light fancies that might bring her awake in the middle of the night. All was quiet; her husband snored peacefully at her side, and she reached down to pull the covers back over his hairy toes. The moon was waxing toward full and a shaft of pale light knifed in through a crack in her shutter. She rose from her bed and tiptoed to her window, drawn there by a feeling she could not name.

She saw that an elven host was passing over the downs, as quiet as the wind on the grass. There was no singing, and the bridles of their mounts made no noise, nor did the hooves and footfalls upon the sward.

At the head of the train rode a pale haired elf. His face was grim, and he wore no outward sign of rank upon his brow, yet any who saw them would have recognized his lordship over the company. At his side rode a dark haired woman whom he looked upon with grave courtesy and a tender regard.

The sight of the passing grey host moved Iris to rouse her small daughter Daisy and bring her to the window. "Look, child, the elves are riding."

The little hobbit girl smiled with delight. "They are so fair! Remember how Grandma Lily always liked to tell the story of the time she saw elves riding to the Havens? I did not believe her when she told me how beautiful they were. But, Mama, why are these elves riding east?"

Iris shook her head. Whenever elves were seen, and they had not been seen for many a year, they rode westward towards the sea. These elves rode away from it, and on the face of the Elven-lord was a somber look as if he were riding to his doom. And yet, at the same time it was a hopeful expression, a strange, resigned joy in whatever was to come. The look said, "Home."

ooooooo

_To be continued . . _.


	2. The Cruelest Month

Summary: A modern day woman lands a job that is too good to be true at a mysterious toy company, where things are not as they seem. Has she strayed into a dream? Drama; humor. Characters: All the usual Mirkwood suspects and an OFC. Rated PG-13 for innuendo and naughty language. AU

Disclaimer: The characters and the world of Middle-earth belong to JRR Tolkien. I merely borrow them for a time. I am making no money from this. Beta-reader for this story is IgnobleBard. Le hannon, Bard!

**Not Fade Away**

**Part One: The Cruelest Month**

They say that April is the cruelest month. But April brings the promise of new life, with the bursting of the first leaves and the sprouting of the first tender shoots of grass up through the cracked pavement. Of all the months of the year, she had always found January to be the cruelest, especially in this city, when the hydrocarbon soot of the streets turned the snow to brown slush almost as soon as it fell, and the biting winds off the lake froze it hard as a knife, slashing at tender bare ankles as they broke through the drifts. This past January had been no different, with its bitter news to match the bitter weather. However, this April was shaping up to be the second cruelest month of this annus horribilis.

"What a fool I was to marry a lawyer!" she told herself, as she washed her hands compulsively to remove the slimy feeling left by the pen she had used to sign away the last seven years of her life earlier that afternoon.

To give herself credit, she hadn't really married a lawyer. She had married a college junior who had promised her the world, the sun and the stars, and she had been too much in love with him to think straight when she did it. She had been just as much in love one year later when he talked her into abandoning her plans for art school to support the two of them while he got his law degree. It was a shared effort, a partnership for their future, he had argued, and her turn would come once he had passed the bar and was bringing in a fat paycheck.

For six years she had worked as a data entry clerk for an insurance company, getting up every morning and putting on uncomfortable clothing to sit at a desk and stare at a computer screen, transcribing the claims forms, typing the same idiotic details, fixing the same idiotic mistakes. It had been a living death for someone with a clever mind and a soul that wanted to create beauty, but she lived in the hope that someday things would be different.

Well they sure as hell were different now. Her beloved Michael Taylor, Esq. had surprised her two weeks after his law school graduation with the news that he was moving out. They had grown apart, he told her. She no longer stimulated his mind, or 'fit in' with his new circle of professional friends, and he had found someone else who did -- not surprisingly, someone from the firm where he had just been hired after interning there for the past three summers. They had nothing to their name but debt from his student loans, which he was most generously offering to take on himself --along with the earning potential her stultifying work had provided him. Of course, there was the implied threat that if she didn't roll over and keep the divorce amicable, half of that debt would find itself on the negotiating table as a fair split of their marital property.

"Bored, were you, Michael?" she thought as she took a mouthful of Listerine to remove the taste of the hypocrisy that smiling and keeping the anger out of her voice in the lawyer's office earlier that day had left. "You were nowhere near as bored as I was for the last few years, working all day and then coming home to cook and wash the skid marks out of your under shorts while you studied. And it was all for us, wasn't it?" Right, and monkeys could fly out of her butt. She spat.

She looked at her mirrored reflection dispassionately, telling herself that this was the face of a born patsy. Nondescript brown hair, eyes somewhere halfway between blue and grey, tall, thin, no bosom or butt to speak of. Michael had always complained about the flat chest, and he had become increasingly insistent that she get implants once they had the money for it. Well the titties weren't going to happen anymore, and that at least was a relief. She hadn't really wanted to have two alien lumps of bobbing plastic on her chest. She was no raving beauty -- a good solid six out of ten, assuming she was in a generous mood with herself, which she wasn't at the moment.

"So, what are you going to do with the rest of your life, idiot?" she asked herself. Not surprisingly, the mirror woman had no answer. She merely looked tired and pissed off -- and a little scared.

As if the divorce weren't bad enough, the issue of what to do with the rest of her life had just become more pressing. She had kept this bit of information to herself this afternoon, not that Michael Taylor and his lawyer, a family practice associate at his new firm, would have given a rat's ass, but her most recent paycheck from Titanic Insurance had contained a pink slip and two weeks severance pay. Evidently, Titanic Insurance had discovered that the data entry clerks in Bangalore worked for one fifth the price of their American counterparts. Hooray for the age of instantaneous Internet communication that made such wonders possible! The entire Chicago office was being closed, effective immediately.

If this were a work of bad fiction, it would be time to put on the Metallica CD, the one with Fade To Black on it, take out the gin and the razorblades, and make an end to herself in a hot bath. Instead, she poured herself a glass of cheap box wine, kicked off her shoes, peeled off her pantyhose and sat down at her computer to hit the job sites. Might as well take advantage of the technology while she could still afford the ISP.

Fortunately, her résumé was up to date, other than the change back to her birth name now that the papers were signed. A résumé that never changes was the only benefit of being trapped in a dead end job for years. A few keystrokes in her word processing program, and voila! The name of Taylor was down the history chute along with the asshat who had given it to her.

She began by checking her email. It was all spam - her parents were dead, she was an only child, and most of her childhood friends had drifted away over the course of her marriage, put off by her chronic lack of free time and Michael's chilly treatment of them.

"Refinance your mortgage." What mortgage? What home equity? She'd be lucky if she could pay the rent on this third floor walkup come next month. She hit the delete key.

"You have won two million dollars in the Liberian Lottery." Don't think so! She hit delete again.

A nonsense subject line from an unfamiliar address was next. She was tempted to delete it sight unseen, but took a quick look just to be on the safe side. Uh-uh, don't even have one of those, and I wouldn't want it bigger if I did. Although, my dear departed husband might have been interested. She stifled a giggle and hit delete again.

Another cryptic subject. This time, it was selling something called the Jackrabbit. Her finger moved to the delete key and then stopped. Now was not the time to be wasting money, but you just never knew when something like that might come in handy. Any port in a storm, eh? As she saved the email, it hit her; she was really and truly single again.

She sent her résumé to every data entry and file clerk opening in the metropolitan area, ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach at the thought of actually showing up to do them for the next forty years. And then, in a quixotic mood, she checked out the job openings for graphic artists. As she feared, most called for art school credentials she did not possess, but one entry caught her eye. An outfit called Dale Toy Company was looking for an entry-level designer/illustrator. Familiarity with video games was a plus. No degree requirements were listed. All that the listing asked for was a résumé and a sample of the applicant's artwork.

She stared at the screen for several minutes. She didn't have a snowflake's chance in hell of getting this job, or even landing an interview, but a small voice of hope at the back of her mind would not be still. It was probably the wine, she decided, but what did she have to lose? It wouldn't even cost her a stamp if she could get her scanner to work.

The only hurdle was the sample artwork. She had stubbornly refused, despite Michael's nagging, to part with her student portfolio, but it was buried deep in the apartment house's basement storage area and would take her at least a day to dig out. She pulled a piece of paper out of her printer, took a pencil stub from the cup on her computer desk and looked around for something to draw.

The tiny back bedroom that served as a home office was a mess. There was no help there. The window looked out on the back yard where all that was visible were the topmost branches of a lone tree. It was early spring, and the leaves had just begun to unfurl. One branch had a single, fully opened leaf at its tip, and she began to sketch it, making the leaf the focal point of the composition, with the sea of neighborhood rooftops as a background and the hazy outline of the Chicago skyline showing faintly in the distance.

Why anyone would care about a leaf never occurred to her, especially if that someone was working for a toy company and interested in cheerful packaging artwork. But something about the solitary scrap of nature against the urban backdrop had spoken to her. And, bottom line, it was all she had to draw at the moment. When the sketch was completed, she set it on her scanner bed and set it to save as a JPEG.

"Please, please, don't give me any trouble this time," she whispered, as she listened to the familiar clunking noise of her crotchety machine making the scan.

The result wasn't half bad, and she attached the file to her résumé without any touching up and sent the whole email off to Dale Toy Company, feeling certain that this was the last she'd ever hear of it. At least she had tried.

In fact, she had almost forgotten about it by the next morning when she turned on her computer, and she almost deleted the email from laransenDaleToyCo. thinking it might be another attempt to sell her 'adult' novelties. Instead, it was the notification of a job interview the following Monday, giving a downtown address and instructing her to report to a Linda Singer in Human Resources.

ooooooo

_To be continued . . ._


	3. Reversal Of Fortune

Summary: A modern day woman lands a job that is too good to be true at a mysterious toy company, where things are not as they seem. Has she strayed into a dream? Drama; humor. Characters: All the usual Mirkwood suspects and an OFC. Rated PG-13 for innuendo and naughty language. AU In this chapter, our heroine meets all the principal players and reveals her name.

Disclaimer: The characters and the world of Middle-earth belong to JRR Tolkien. I merely borrow them for a time. I am making no money from this. Beta-reader for this story is IgnobleBard. Le hannon, Bard!

**Not Fade Away**

**Part Two: Reversal of Fortune**

"Have I got the right address?" she wondered as she stared up at the skyscraper. The building was a Mies Van der Rohe design, all black glass and silver steel, and its sheer size dwarfed the nervous woman who stood on the sidewalk in her blue power suit and high heels, clutching her precious portfolio. She checked the printout once again. This was the correct address for Dale Toy Company, but the only marking on the building said "Rivers Enterprises" in elegant silver letters next to the front entrance. If she hadn't been intimidated before, she surely was now.

"I am so out of my league," she told herself miserably, as she pushed open the door and entered the lobby.

The interior of the building was anything but sterile. The lobby rose two stories, and its back wall was clad in natural stone with a tall waterfall surrounded by greenery. "How did they get that tree to grow in here, behind all that black glass?" she wondered as she searched for the security desk. Surprisingly, despite the dark glass, the quality of the light was warm and golden.

"May I help you, Miss?" A security guard was seated behind a granite desk among the foliage. Clearly, Dale Toys, or Rivers Enterprises, whichever it was, had no dress code, because the man's pale hair was down to his shoulder blades and covered his ears. He was wearing a uniform in shades of green and brown that could only be described as stylish, right down to the script lettering that spelled "Hal" across his left chest pocket. She could see a revolver strapped discreetly to his hip. Equally discreet were the banks of security screens and computer monitors that flashed behind the desk.

"Yes, I'm here for a job interview. The name is Walker. I was to meet Ms. Singer from Human Resources at two o' clock."

Hal looked down at one of his screens. "She's expecting you. I'll have someone come down to take you up." The blue glow from his monitor lit his face, and she couldn't help but notice that he was incredibly good looking in an exotic sort of way. She gave herself a mental smack. Husband gone only three months and she was thinking like a hormone soaked teenager!

"If you'll have a seat . . . Ah, wait a minute, here comes someone who can show you the way," Hal said.

A tall man in yet another green and brown uniform came ambling across the lobby, dragging a bucket, mop, and a sign that said, _'Cuidado: Piso Mojado_.' The left pocket of the custodian's uniform read, "Randy."

"Randy, can you take Ms. Walker up to forty-eight?"

"Sure thing. I was headed up there next. This way," he said, leading her to a bank of elevators and pulling his bucket assembly in behind him. He waited for her to enter and then punched in the floor number.

"Here for a job interview?"

She nodded. If she were anything like her jerk of a husband, this would be where she got all yuppie on this janitor's ass and ignored him for the underling he was, but Randy seemed nice enough. "Yes, there's an opening in the art department. I don't think I have much of a chance, though."

"Aw, c'mon. How do you expect to get anywhere with an attitude like that?" Randy grinned. "If they let a guy like me work here, why not you too?"

She grinned back. Although they were thousands of miles from either coast, and Lake Michigan rarely raised anything taller than a three-foot wave, everything about Randy said 'surfer dude.' He was also even better looking than Hal, if such a thing were possible, and his bright gold hair was worn in a long mane too. There was definitely no dress code at whatever this place called itself.

"I always say that a positive attitude is everything," Randy continued, as if he were imparting a deep secret of life. The elevator hummed as the two of them headed skyward. "Tell me something, "he said, holding up his forearm and examining it intently, turning his hand this way and that. "Does this look solid to you?"

She blinked. That was one hell of a strange question, and she momentarily wondered if it was such a good idea to be alone in an elevator with this guy. He was topping six foot four easily, and to put it bluntly, he was built. But she supposed Hal knew his job. "Um, it looks completely solid to me. Tell me, does Dale have any kind of random drug testing?"

Randy shook his head. "Nope. There's no drug testing at all. I mean, if you get wasted on the job and screw up, don't look for much sympathy from Mr. Rivers. But you don't look like the kind of person who'd do that."

"That's nice to know." It was nice to know. She was getting damn tired of peeing in a cup every month just for the privilege of transcribing insurance forms. "I suppose that means no employee polygraphs either."

"Heck no," Randy laughed. "We don't need those here." The elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open with a jaunty 'ding.' "Here we are, floor forty-eight, Human Resources, dry goods, housewares, and ladies' undergarments."

She gripped her portfolio tighter and took a deep breath. "Well, wish me luck. This seems like a nice place to work."

"I don't think you're going to need any luck," said Randy with an enigmatic smile as the door slid shut between them.

This was like no set of offices she had ever seen. The walls were a warm earthen color and they were covered with hangings and Asian art. Subtly hued oriental rugs softened the feel of the hardwood floors. Everything seemed calculated to inspire peace and comfort. Who had designed this building interior and how much money had gone into it? she asked herself.

A tall slender woman waited in the hallway, and she held out a long fingered hand. "I'm Linda Singer. You must be Ms. Walker. Come this way," she said, leading her to an office whose window overlooked the lake and directing her to a chair. Linda took a seat behind a desk, where a copy of the résumé was laid out. "To begin, what should I call you? Your resume says M. Susan Walker. Do you go by Susan?"

She hesitated. The 'M. Susan' had been Michael's idea. He thought it looked more professional on a résumé than her unusual first name, which he always said sounded as if she'd been named by pot smoking hippies. In fact, near the end he had begun calling her Sue, which she detested, when he couldn't bring himself to refer to her as something endearing like 'Honey' or darling. But now she realized he had been stealing yet another part of her soul from her by denying her the use of her name. Over the past six years she had become more and more of a wraith, and it was time to call a halt.

"No, I'm not a Sue. Susan is my middle name, after a great aunt of my father's. My given name is Mariposa, which is an excellent argument for keeping those exotic baby name books out of the hands of pregnant women," she said with a quick, rueful laugh. "But my friends call me Posey."

"Then I shall call you Posey," Linda said. "Although I think being named for a butterfly is quite lovely. Where I come from, it isn't unusual to be named after a flower or some other beautiful thing of nature. Can I offer you something to drink? Fruit juice, or some spring water?"

"Some water, thank you." Posey was quite grateful as she accepted a cup of mineral water. The nervousness was making her mouth dry.

"So, tell me, Posey," Linda said, "what makes you want to work for Dale Toys?"

Before she knew it, Posey found herself responding to this friendly woman with complete candor. "For once, I want to do something I'm good at, rather than just marking time behind a computer terminal. And I'm good at doing artistic things, even though I never got to art school. I have to be honest with you -- I'm afraid I'm wasting your time. I never even finished college."

"I never went to college at all, "Linda said serenely. "Neither did Mr. Rivers. All we care about here is that you can do your job and do it well."

"Mr. Rivers?"

"Yes, Aaron Rivers, our owner. Dale Toy Company is a subsidiary of Rivers Enterprises, along with Ithilien Landscape Service, Abendstern Jewelers, and several other companies of which you may or may not have heard."

At the mention of the name, Posey did a double take. The name of Aaron Rivers rang a bell. Although not exactly a household word, she had heard it before, and nearly always in the same tone of voice as the names of Bill Gates and Howard Hughes. Rivers was reputed to be richer than God and twice as reclusive. The idea of him owning a toy company seemed incongruous, although the jewelry was spot on for his avaricious reputation.

Then the second wave of recognition hit. Dale Toys! "The blocks!" she exclaimed in delight.

As the child of intellectual parents, Posey had been subjected to any number of 'educational' toys, most of which were about as fun to play with as eating a meal of tofu and Swiss chard. But those Dale blocks had been a source of creative diversion that had lasted almost into her teens and a little after that, when she would take them out in secret to construct fantastical castles and forts, whose only limit was her imagination. There had also been a wooden railroad set whose pieces joined together in infinite combinations and . . . "And the coloring books! I cut my teeth on those coloring books! The pictures were always so beautiful, and I always felt like a real artist whenever I colored them. I think that's why I got interested in art to begin with." She broke off in embarrassment, as Linda smiled with quiet amusement at her enthusiasm.

"I'm glad to know you're familiar with our traditional products. We are trying to stay current, though, and that's why we like to bring in young talent."

"Isn't all the new talent young? I mean, the design of those blocks has been around for more than a hundred years according to what I've read. My mother said she colored in some of those same books when she was a kid, back in the fifties. If it's good, why change it?"

"We don't so much want to change as to embroider upon the past, if you will. If it's good, it can be made better. Today's innovation is tomorrow's classic."

Posey sighed. "I don't see how I could improve upon what I grew up with." Then she gave herself another mental smack -- Way to blow the interview, girl!

Linda laughed. "You let us worry about whether you're good enough. We've been around long enough to know what we're doing." She looked up as the door opened. "It's about time you showed up, Gary. Posey, this is Gary Brooke, head of the art department. He'll be your supervisor if he likes the look of your portfolio."

Oh, Jeezus, Posey thought -- another looker. The head of the art department was another dark-haired model, like Linda, tall and thin. The hair was long and covered the ears. Hadn't these people realized that the eighties were over? Not that she was complaining, because the look suited him. Maybe it was something in the water or the air of the building that did it, in which case Posey hoped to hell she got this job, because she'd like to look this good too.

"Well let's see what you have here," said Mr. Looker, as he began to shuffle through the drawings in her portfolio. She had the awful feeling that she was parading naked before superior beings, but he seemed to like what he saw. "Oooh - kay. Let's run this past Leif."

"Who is Leif?" she asked helplessly as they all stood up. She couldn't help but notice that Linda discreetly pocketed the glass she had used to drink her mineral water.

"Leif Aransen, our company Vice President. I'm taking you up to forty-nine to meet him. Consider this your second interview. I hope you don't mind a short walk," said Gary leading her to the fire exit and heading upward.

Her feet were hurting like hell in her tight heels, but for a chance at this job, however slim, she'd walk up a hundred flights and keep smiling. She followed Brooke gamely up the stairs, only allowing herself to limp when his back was turned.

"Are you all right, Ms. Walker?" he asked, as he held the fire door open for her, noticing for the first time that she was trailing behind by several steps.

She wasn't all right. He had bounded up the steps as if they weren't even there, while she was out of breath and beginning to perspire. "I'm fine," she lied. "Just a little nervous, perhaps."

"About meeting Leif? Don't be. I've known him for a long time -- I was with him in Ith -- Italy, and I can assure you he doesn't bite. I'll tell you a secret -- he liked your drawing. A lot. You wouldn't believe the dreck the two of us have had to sift through in the past few days." Gary's pocket beeped and he pulled out his pager and scowled. "Drat! They want me downstairs right away. You'll have to find your way from here. It's the corner office, end of the hall. The door's open. He's expecting you." He was heading off before she could protest.

The corner office was impossible to miss, and the door was open, as promised. Posey knocked shyly on the frame and peered in. Nearly all the available wall space was taken up by bookshelves. Not surprisingly, most of those shelves were filled with books, but a few of them held examples of the standard Dale toys. Posey recognized the wooden train set and the blocks, along with a marble maze. The remaining bare walls were covered with photographs of gardens and what looked like framed pages from the coloring books. One of those was a picture of a group of medieval looking lords and ladies riding across a meadow with three tall white towers in the background. Posey remembered having colored the same picture when she was seven years old.

The huge desk, with its view of the lake, was empty. Instead, a pony-tailed blond man in a green sweater and khaki pants was hunched over a computer monitor in one corner, his fingers flying over a game pad. "Hang on a second, I'll be right with you." He remained intent on the computer screen, where all manner of mayhem was occurring. "Agggh - no. . . . Dammit! Well, that's it, I'm dead. Game over." He spun his chair and turned to her with a smile.

Posey gasped. He was too gorgeous to be true. A man this delicately beautiful had to be as gay as the day is long, and what a waste, she told herself. He held out a hand that would have been the envy of her piano teacher mother - those long fingers could span eleven keys easily. To her surprise, the grip was strong.

"Just how long IS the day?" he asked, with a bemused look. "You must be Ms. Walker."

"Call me Posey, please," she said, trying to recover the knack of coherent thought. "Excuse me, but that game you were playing just now, was it . . .?"

"It was, but in case you're wondering, that was research, not goofing off," he said playfully. "I want Dale Toys to develop its own line of video games, and I'm trying out the competition to see what makes a game successful."

"Er, isn't that one of the most violent games on the market? The one the do-gooders always cite as everything that's wrong with our society?"

"If you recognized it you must have played it once or twice." When she nodded sheepishly, he continued, "Well then you have to admit it kicks some serious butt."

She had to laugh at this. Instead of the Captain of Industry she had been expecting to meet, he was more like a typical nerdy kid. He didn't look much older than twenty-five, if that. "I thought Dale Toys were supposed to the gold standard of good, wholesome fun. Toys that are good for you."

He pulled up a chair for her and motioned her to sit. "I have a theory about this, bear with me. 'Fun' and 'good for you' don't need to be mutually exclusive. Computers and video games are wonderful things for teaching us basic problem solving. If at first you don't succeed, you go back and try it another way until you get it right. Even the violence isn't necessarily a bad thing. I've been in combat, and I can tell you that the natural thing is to freeze like a scared rabbit unless you've been exposed to it in small doses."

"You were over in Iraq?" she asked, and when he shook his head she continued, "Kosovo? Somalia? Not Desert Storm!"

"Ah . . . I'm a little older than I look. You probably wouldn't have heard of it or be interested." He flashed her an enigmatic smile. "I never did understand these politicians who want to censor video games and stick V-chips in our TV sets to banish every hint of violence from contemporary life, and then turn around and vote to send kids off to fight in foreign wars."

"Still, I don't think it's good for anybody to get their kicks by running over pedestrians and shooting cops," Posey said.

"You're right on that score," he agreed. "That's why I like this one better." He held up another CD case with a familiar logo.

"Oh, yes, that's one of my favorites!"

"Right. There are hundreds of ways to beat each level, and you lose points for killing a civilian or a cop. In fact, the fewer people you kill and the less noise you make, the higher your score. Of course, this character's an assassin, and that's a bit of a problem. We don't want the kiddies thinking that's a good idea.

"What I'm after is a game that's fun to play, challenges you to use your brains and your stealth to get through it, has a quality look to the graphics, and has a story behind it that doesn't leave a bad taste, morally speaking."

"I don't know the first thing about writing computer code," she protested.

"You don't have to. We have the tech division for that. What I need from my art department are people with imagination and the talent for making an imaginary world believable. I couldn't make a realistic drawing to save my life, and that's why you're here. I liked that leaf of yours."

He pulled out a printout of the scan she had sent and laid it on the table. "Did you bring the original with you, by any chance? I'd really like to have it, if you did. I'd be happy to pay you for it."

"Don't be silly," she said, taking the original from her portfolio and handing it over. "It's just a piece of computer paper with number two pencil scribbles on it. Keep it."

"But that's the point. You can draw with an actual pencil, on real paper, and it doesn't look like every other piece of generic computer art we got in this week. I think that if I ask you for a mountain, or a cave, or a giant spider, you can give me one without it looking like a bad cartoon."

"I can try -- that's all I can promise."

"That's all anyone can ask." The phone chirped, and Leif excused himself to answer it. While he spoke, Posey did the usual polite phone-call thing and stared out the window at the lake, pretending not to listen to the one-sided conversation. "Hello . . .Already? Well, it's a lock regardless. Word from on high. . . . Just for curiosity's sake, what were the results?" He flicked a quick glance in her direction and smiled. "Ah! I thought so." He said a quick good-bye and hung up.

"Well, Ms. Walker, do you have any questions?"

Did she have any questions? Where to start? "I guess my first question is, when will I hear about a follow-up interview, Mr. Aransen?"

"You won't." Her face fell. "There's no need for another interview. You're hired. And it's Leif. I never cared much for ceremony. That's more my father's thing."

"Your father?"

"Didn't they tell you? Aaron Rivers is my father. I may get a corner office, but Dad gets the executive suite. That's the way it's always been and will always be. And I'll tell you a secret -- that's fine with me."

Well that explained a lot, she thought. Why someone in his mid-twenties would be a corporate vice president, and why his office would resemble a giant playroom. The different surnames puzzled her a bit. Was Leif the result of a brief early marriage, with Leif taking the name of a stepfather? Or maybe no marriage at all? Stranger things had happened among the rich and famous, and it was none of her business. All that mattered was that it was a paycheck as long as the job lasted.

"How soon can you start?"

"As soon as you need me."

"Good, report to Linda tomorrow and she'll get you oriented. You can wear what you like, of course," he said with a pointed look at her suit and heels, "but I'd strongly suggest business casual, or even jeans. I think people do a better job if they can actually move, not to mention not being in pain." To illustrate the point, he held up a foot clad in a driving moccasin, and flexed his toe cheerfully. He had long legs to match his fingers, and he was incredibly flexible, she noticed.

Yes! she thought, with a mental thumbs up. No more pantyhose!

"Here's a copy of your job agreement, benefit package and salary. Is there a problem?" he said, as her eyes shot up at the figure. "Not enough?"

Shut up, idiot, and don't blow this, she told herself. "No, it's fine. Quite generous, really."

"You may find yourself doing assignments for some of our other companies -- Ithilien Landscape in particular. I hope you like plants, Ms. Walker."

"Posey," she corrected, "Especially if I'm supposed to call you Leif. And I like plants just fine."

"Good. You may also find yourself designing some jewelry. It all depends on what you're good at. We'll re-negotiate the salary down the road. If and when."

She had no problem with that whatsoever.

"Oh, Posey? You do have a question. It's been written all over your face since you walked in here," Leif said mischievously. "You deserve an answer."

Oh, please, she prayed, don't let him have picked up on the 'gay' thing!

"The hair? Long, flowing, flaxen-waxen and down around our ears? It's . . . it's part of our religion."

She nodded politely. A religious observance. Of course. This being multi-cultural Chicago, she was used to turbans and yarmulkes aplenty. And back in Wisconsin, in Richland Center, there had even been Amish, with those fringe beards. It was all part of the code of Midwestern Nice -- you never commented on anyone's religion. You just accepted it without question, no matter how outlandish, although she had to say, this long hair was one of the more aesthetic customs she had seen.

"Tomorrow, then," he said.

I've strayed into a dream, she told herself, as she left the office and made her way down to street level. She never allowed herself to think that it had all been just a little too easy.

ooo

Halfway through her first day, so far so good. She had reported to Linda Singer at 9:00 a.m. sharp and been given a quick tour of the building, or at least those parts of it that would concern her. The commissary and an employee fitness center with locker rooms and showers were on the third floor. The next twenty floors upward were devoted to production work and shipping for the toy company, although Linda informed her that there were toy factories in other locations around the globe as well. Above that were offices for the various Rivers subsidiaries, of which there were many, including an airline and a shipping company, Whitestone, in addition to the jewelers and the landscape company she already knew about. The offices of the landscape service, Ithilien, occupied the uppermost floors, just below number forty-seven, which housed the art department.

Posey had expected a maze of cubicles of the sort she was used to working in, but the art department was a pleasant surprise. It was open plan, with the work areas being separated by print tables or banks of greenery. Most of the workstations had a direct view of daylight through the windows, and those that did not were against walls that held books and artwork.

"How can you be creative in ugly surroundings?" Gary had said, noting her awe. Her own workstation was set in against the bookshelves, "For inspiration, if you need it,' Gary had told her, but she could see eastward through the screen of ferns toward the vista of the lake.

She had a drafting table, and a desk with a computer and peripherals, including a good scanner. She spent the morning exploring the art library in the shelves and the software in her computer.

When lunchtime came, she took the elevator down to the commissary. Even that place was suitably aesthetic. The long refectory style tables were of wood, rather than plastic, and the lighting was subtle. The food was simple, but good, consisting of various breads, cold meats and cheeses, and a large selection of fresh fruit and greens. There was no cash register - the meals were included in her pay package, and Linda had told her that she could come early to take her breakfast there and stay later for her supper if she wished.

She took a tray and a plate, which she filled with nut bread, chicken and a chunk of Gouda cheese. A bottle of mineral water topped it off.

But now she was having one of those high school moments. There were groups of workers from the factory floors sitting at the tables, but she hesitated to intrude on an already established circle of friends. Some of them were chattering away in Spanish, others spoke Polish, and yet others spoke Arabic, none of which she could understand. Shyly, she passed them all by and took a seat alone in a corner.

"How have you enjoyed your first morning with us?" said a gentle voice from her side. It was Linda, and Posey was grateful to see a familiar face. "May I sit with you?"

"Of course." Linda's company was like water in the desert. "It's a bit overwhelming. I'm not a snob, but none of them seem to speak English."

"Most of our factory staff are immigrants. And no, it's not because they can be hired for less money." Linda paused and Posey was briefly ashamed, for she'd had that very thought. "Mr. Rivers was the son of an immigrant, and he likes to see newcomers being given an opportunity to make a decent life for themselves."

'That's refreshing," Posey said. "It's too bad not all of the employers in the metro area think that way. Chicago has a lot of immigrants, and it's all too easy to exploit them."

"I wish you'd tell it to the people who seem to think we're pulling some kind of shenanigans by paying a living wage and benefits," Linda laughed. "We get more visits from the IRS than every other employer in the area combined, or so it seems."

"Strange you should mention that, Linda," said a youngish man in a brown tweed suit who brought up a tray and sat down next to them. "Big trouble on the top floor this morning. Only this time it was a visit from INS. They took Kemal from down in shipping and receiving. Said something about a problem with his work visa."

"That's crap, Glenn! I checked his papers out myself." Linda sounded exasperated. "This is terrible -- Fayah's due to give birth in three weeks. Are they going to deport him?"

"Not if Aaron has anything to say about it. He's got Sid and Morrie on the case right now. Those two'll have Kemal out by tonight, or tomorrow at the latest. Of course it didn't improve Aaron's mood any," he sighed. Then he brightened. "Who is this? I don't think we've been introduced."

"This is Posey Walker from the art department. Posey, may I present Glenn Butler, Mr. Rivers' personal assistant."

Glenn wasn't quite as drop dead good-looking as either Gary or Leif, but his smile more than made up for it. "Art department, eh? I hope you like plants. Leif will have you designing gardens before you know it."

"I like plants just fine. But at the moment they plan to have me drawing gamescapes. The first one seems to be a pastoral countryside with little houses set into the sides of the hills. Plenty of plants in that one."

Glenn shook his dark hair. Obviously he was yet another practitioner of the mystery religion at Rivers. There was a warm twinkle in his slate grey eyes. "Ah, Leif's video game. Dale Toys moves into the twenty-first century. Brave new world! I'm still having a hard time remembering what age we're in."

ooooooo

_To be continued . . ._


	4. What's Your Name, Who's Your Daddy?

In this chapter, our heroine saves the environment and picks up on some undercurrents.

Disclaimer: The characters and the world of Middle-earth belong to JRR Tolkien. I merely borrow them for a time. The song lyrics quoted herein belong to their respective composers and copyright holders. I am making no money from this. Beta-reader for this story is IgnobleBard. Le hannon, Bard!

**Not Fade Away**

**Part Three: What's Your Name, Who's Your Daddy?**

By mid-summer, she had settled into the job well. To her relief, her bosses seemed happy with her work so far. Gary had been especially pleased by a detail she had designed for the rounded door of a hillside cottage that appeared in level one. Level two had involved a rough hilly wilderness through which the game protagonist, a strange little creature, traveled with his party. There was nothing more difficult to draw than lots of trees, rocks and rivers. The trolls might have been a challenge, but those were handled, as were all the characters, by the more experienced artists. Posey was merely drawing background.

She wore jeans and tee shirts mostly now. After going home nights covered in graphite and colored chalk, it seemed only sensible. Since she took the El, walking the few blocks between her apartment and the station, and the few blocks to the Rivers Building, her feet appreciated the fact that she had switched from heels to comfortable running shoes.

Another bright spot was her budding friendship with Linda Singer, which was something quite unexpected. After the first day, which had no doubt stemmed from kindness, Linda had taken to sharing her lunch table. Sometimes they were joined by others -- Sally from the art department, Meryl, who worked in HR, and Glenn once or twice. Sally and Meryl were married to men who worked in managerial positions on other floors and would have lunch with their husbands whenever possible, so often Linda and Posey found themselves alone.

It was hard not to notice that the other female workers seemed immune to the occupational hazard of secretary spread -- there was not a big butt in the building -- and the women seemed as uncannily good-looking as the men. When Posey had shyly mentioned her observation to Linda, Linda had merely cited the excellent health benefits, which included plastic surgery coverage and the highly encouraged employee fitness plan. Posey had begun working out in the fitness center, but on Linda's suggestion, she had taken to coming in early so the two of them could run along the lakefront before work. Always naturally thin, Posey had noticed her muscles taking on a new grace and definition as a result.

As they ran and ate together, Posey inevitably talked about her life, her childhood in rural Wisconsin, the death of her parents in a winter car crash during her first year of college, leaving her lonely and vulnerable to her glib and charming boyfriend, her marriage, and its sad end. Linda never really said much, but as she got the story out, Posey found the hurt and the bitterness gradually leaving her.

The only fly in the ointment was an incident that happened in late June as Posey was returning home from work one evening. She had been approached on the street by two men in dark suits, one of whom introduced himself as Agent Duncan and named his partner as Agent Fitzhugh.

"Ms. Walker, we've been investigating Aaron Rivers for some time now, and we feel that you might be in a position to help us."

Posey hadn't liked the look of them, nor had she liked the way they barred her access to her front door as she tried to get past them. "Can you give me a reason why I should talk to you? My job is a good one, and so far I've seen nothing to make me dislike the company or think there's anything wrong there."

"Of course there's nothing to dislike. The job pays ridiculously well. That's how Rivers buys his employees' loyalty. But tell me, Ms. Walker, hasn't it occurred to you how easily you got the job with little or no qualifications? Frankly, we think Rivers is using Dale Toys and some of his other companies to launder money. Maybe from drugs, maybe from munitions sold to the sort of people who shouldn't have them. Maybe something even worse. Look at the sort of people he hires -- foreigners, those cultists who manage his companies, and the occasional gullible outsider like yourself."

"He's a good old-fashioned commie, if you ask me," muttered Fitzhugh. "You should see the list of charities he supports - Greenpeace, ACLU, The Sierra Club."

Posey almost burst out laughing. She wondered what these two would think if they knew her father had voted Progressive-Socialist in every election before his death.

"We don't find it amusing, Ms. Walker," said Duncan, "and neither should you if you love your country. You don't want another 9/11 here in Chicago, do you? I'll tell you something else; young women who work for Rivers have been known to disappear."

"You want me to spy, is that it?"

Duncan handed her his card. "All we want you to do is to keep your eyes open and let us know about anything you see that might be out of the ordinary. Is that so hard?"

"I'll be sure to do that," she said evenly, and took the card. She watched from her vestibule as the two walked away. She was tempted to drop the card right there but dismissed the urge as being melodramatic. Instead, she took it upstairs and put it on her refrigerator, noting that no agency name was given along with Duncan's phone number. So who was he? FBI? CIA? IRS? Black Ops? S.P.E.C.T.R.E.? She had the feeling it would be a cold day in hell before she used the number.

However, her curiosity had been piqued, and the first thing she did was to flip on her computer and Google Rivers Enterprises and Aaron Rivers. She found nothing sinister. Not all of the Rivers companies were traded publicly, but those that were often had their stocks featured in the social responsibility mutual funds. She was especially impressed by the earnings for Ithilien Landscaping, which listed annual profits of eight figures and had been recognized by several national awards for garden design.

Aaron Rivers was listed prominently in several philanthropical organizations and he was a member of the board of directors of the Chicago Art Institute, the Symphony Orchestra and the Opera, in addition to being a major contributor. Despite his prominence, there were no photographs of Rivers or any of his family members to be found in the news archives. She did not find this surprising, given Rivers' reputation for shunning the spotlight. If Aaron Rivers was the Devil Himself, there was no sign of it.

One morning in July, she was working on the latest gamescape, which this time involved a high range of mountains. Most of the action took place in a cavern, so the background consisted of nearly all rough stone. There was an underground lake with a rocky island, but nothing very challenging. She was chewing on her pencil and working on yet another boulder when Leif made an appearance in the art department and brought the work to a halt by clapping his hands and calling for attention.

"I'm looking for volunteers for some outdoor work. A fuel tanker jackknifed and overturned on Highway 41 a few miles north of Highland Park. The HAZMAT folks have been and gone and done their usual half-assed job at cleaning up the spill, and Ithilien is going to be doing the final cleanup. It was in the nature area, and there are some wetlands and some wildlife to deal with. We can use all the hands we can get."

"If we blow off our day's work and go play saviors of the environment, will we be getting a bonus for this?" one of the artists asked, half in earnest.

"Just your regular pay, brownie points, and my undying gratitude, Henry, " Leif said lightly. "This is going to be nasty work, so coveralls will be available in the fitness center. Anyone who's interested, get a pair and then assemble in the basement. We'll have a bus going up there."

Posey was interested, of course. Earning points with an employer was good, but having grown up in the country, she relished the chance to get outdoors for a change. She headed down the third floor, and found Linda in the women's locker room, already changing into green coveralls with the logo of Ithilien Landscaping Service on the front pocket. Together, they headed to the basement garage and the waiting buses. Posey noticed, as the volunteers got on the bus, that a lot of the long hair had disappeared beneath bandanas, hats, and even a few stocking caps, despite the July heat.

An hour's drive north of the city, they found trucks and vans bearing the Ithilien logo already waiting for them on the roadside. When Posey caught her first glimpse of the young men who worked for the landscaping business, she understood one of the reasons for its resounding success. What rich northern suburban matron wouldn't want those young Adonises showing up to mow the lawn and trim the hedges?

The hydrocarbon stench of fuel oil lay over the area, along with the exhaust from the passing traffic.

"There's a small creek here," one of the landscape workers was telling Leif, "and it carried a lot of the spill into the marsh. We're all going to have to get our feet wet."

Leif shrugged. "At least we'll be away from the traffic. We've dealt with worse."

"Come with me, Posey," Linda said, moving off down the road embankment. "Sometimes we find a bird or an animal that's been soaked in the fuel. We'll set up a washing station away from the highway noise. It's less frightening for them that way."

"I know. My father was a vet -- a veterinarian, I mean, and I used to work in his office summers and weekends. I know how to do a hold." They came to a level grassy spot, and two of the men brought sawhorses and planks to make a table.

Linda busied herself setting up dishpans. "There's nothing to wash yet. You might as well go find Leif and see if he has anything for you to do."

Posey wandered among the trees, looking to spot the blue bandanna Leif had used to tie the hair out of his eyes. Here and there, the handsome young men of the landscape service were at work, spraying the foliage with something she couldn't identify and picking up scattered debris. As they worked, they hummed softly to themselves, a strange unearthly sweet tune barely above the level of hearing.

She found Leif alone in water up to his knees. She stopped still, feeling she had intruded on private moment, for his head was bowed and his shoulders slumped. In his hands, he held the limp body of a duck. Its feathers were caked with the oil soaked water, and around its neck was a plastic harness from a six-pack of beer cans.

"_A! Aragorn, sen i ardh i muddannem an edraith?" _he murmured softly.

She cleared her throat, and he turned to look at her. "Ah, Ms. Walker . . . Posey. I didn't hear you."

"Sorry to creep up on you like that. I've always been able to move quietly. My father too. He used to joke that one of our pioneer great-grandmas must have pulled a cute trick on her husband and sneaked a little Native American into our gene pool."

He laughed. "I wouldn't like to impugn the chastity of one of your ancestresses, but I think your father came closer than you know."

"What was that language you were speaking?"

"Your hearing is good too. It was Welsh. Lovely language . . . Welsh." He waded to the water's edge and laid the duck's body down. "I was just saying we were too late for this one."

She watched while he cut the plastic from the dead bird's neck. "It's overwhelming. What can one person do?"

"You can start by grabbing a trash bag and picking up the filth like this," he said, holding out the plastic harness to her. "It may not be much, but it's better than nothing."

She spent the next few hours policing the area, finding a veritable bounty of plastic holders, aluminum pull tabs, windblown fast food wrappers, an inner tube from a blown truck tire, and three used condoms. She cheered herself up about having to handle the condoms, reminding herself that they meant three fewer potential littering jerks twenty years down the line. By the end of the morning, she too was soaked to the knees in black fetid bog muck.

The afternoon was spent washing off the few birds that had been found and caught. Posey held them still while Linda sudsed them down with detergent and rinsed the oil from their feathers. It was surprisingly easy, for the touch of Linda's hand seemed to calm the frightened creatures, and she sang softly while she worked, a soft song which put both Posey and the birds into a peaceful trance. The time passed so easily that she barely noticed the shadows growing longer as the afternoon waned into evening.

"This is the last one," Gary said, as he brought them a struggling Canada Goose. The bird was putting up quite a fight, flapping its wings and leaving trails of bog muck and oil across Gary's face and hair. It was a comical sight, but Posey didn't allow herself to laugh at her harried supervisor until she heard Linda giggle beside her.

"Give it to me, Gary, you never had the touch," she said, taking the goose, which promptly quieted as she and Posey began to clean it up.

"About done here?" Leif said, appearing out of the trees. "We've got the foliage washed down, and the buses will be loading in half an hour. Whoa, buddy, you are ripe!" he exclaimed, catching a look and a whiff of Gary.

"You're no flower yourself," Gary said, looking at Leif's trousers, which were black up to mid thigh. "I don't think I've smelled anything quite this bad since the time we all did that favor for that ranger friend of yours."

"Yes, those were the days," said Leif just a little too quickly. He collared Gary and led him off toward the highway.

The sun was setting as the bus headed back downtown. It was strange, Posey thought, but some of the roadside shrubbery that had been wilting when they arrived that morning looked just fine when they left. It must have been a trick of the light, she decided, as she lay back in her seat and listened to the soft humming of the other workers.

She and Linda hit the showers as soon as the bus got back to the Rivers Building. "A few of us are going out for a drink later," Linda said, as the two of them toweled off. "Would you like to join us?"

All that waited at home was an empty apartment, so Posey didn't have to think twice before accepting the invitation. The Harp turned out to be a little Irish pub four blocks away on a quiet side street. The bar had a green neon shamrock in the front window and a no smoking sign on the front door. "That's unusual for Chicago," Posey remarked as she and Linda entered and sat down at the bar.

"O'Dell knows his clientele, don't you, Sean?" said Linda as the bartender owner came to take their order.

"That I do. I used to have a two pack a day habit just from the second-hand smoke I inhaled in here before you lot showed up. Never had to spend a penny on cigarettes. But I don't miss it. What will it be, ladies?"

"My usual," Linda said.

"Brandy with a beer chaser, coming up," O'Dell said. "And you, Miss?"

"White wine spritzer," said Posey, still looking at Linda in surprise. She hadn't figured her friend for the hard drinking type.

A number of the Rivers employees were already in the bar, sitting in the booths. The door opened and Gary and Leif entered looking clean and damp from the showers. Leif held up his hands for silence. "We did good today, folks. Tonight, all drinks are on the Leif!" There was some scattered applause and laughter, as Leif and Gary went into a rear corner and opened the dartboard.

Posey watched the game of darts for awhile. "He's good!" she finally said. "He never seems to miss."

"Get about five or six of those dark ales he likes into him, and he'll start to miss a few of his shots," Linda laughed. "Trust me on it."

Posey did a double take. She had seen something in Linda's eye as she looked at the young man, and she had heard it in her voice too. "You like him," she said.

"Of course I like him," Linda said, taking a sip of her brandy. "What's not to like? I've known him forever, it seems. He was a sweet boy and now he's a sweet man."

"I mean, Linda, you have a thing for him."

Linda shrugged, and she took a while to answer. "What if I do?"

"Why don't you go for it?"

"It's . . . complicated. There's an age difference."

"What age difference?" Posey said. "You don't look a day over thirty, and he's what -- twenty-five?"

"It's a little more than that," Linda said evasively. At Posey's look of disbelief, she said, "I'm much older than I look. We have very good plastic surgery coverage in the medical plan."

"This is the twenty-first century, for Pete's sake!"

"All right; forget the age. Forget that he's my employer and so is his father. I just don't seem to be . . . his type."

Posey nodded sagely as she watched Leif laughing with Gary in the corner. "You mean he's gay. I kind of thought so."

Linda sighed and sipped her drink again, this time the beer. "Of course he's gay, most of the time. The war changed him, though. There was a shadow on him when he came back that he's never been able to shake." Then she looked at Posey and laughed. "But, no -- you mean homosexual. I don't think so. He's been married twice."

Posey rolled her eyes discreetly. For all her seeming sophistication, Linda could sometimes be naïve. Two failed marriages before a person was halfway through his twenties had to indicate something was not quite right.

"The timing was just never right," Linda continued. "He was just a boy. Then he came back from the war a man, but he was gone so soon, to Italy and then . . . west."

"California?" Posey said, puzzled.

Before Linda had a chance to answer, the jukebox began to play an old song.

"_It's the time of the season, when the love runs high."_

Glenn Butler, now just wearing an open collared shirt and holding a glass of red wine, sat down next to them. "Hello, ladies," he said.

_"In this time, give it to me easy, and let me try with pleasured hands . . ."_

"Glenn, has anyone told you that you are a sadistic bastard?" Linda said evenly.

_"_Not recently. But it's always nice to know I'm appreciated, " he laughed.

_"To take you and the sun to promised lands . . .To show you every one." _

"Your taste in music stinks."

"The one who feeds the jukebox gets to pick the songs," he said. "Besides, I had a sense that the boilermakers were loosening some tongues more than is wise."

"You're a fine one to talk about drinking too much," Linda said pointedly.

"I plead guilty," Glenn laughed. "At the moment, I'm quite sober, but I intend to remedy that. Cheers!"

Posey listened to the two of them bicker, somewhat distracted. What was that song? It was familiar.

_"It's the time of the season for loving."_

The Zombies! Yes, that was it! Her parents had liked it. She hadn't heard it since the old phonograph had died. She was congratulating herself on her good memory when she happened to glance over at the corner. Leif was staring in their direction.

"_What's your name? Who's your daddy? Is he rich like me?"_

He was looking at Linda, and with such a hungry look.

_"Has he taken any time . . . To show you what you need to live?"_

I guess he might not be gay after all, she decided.

_"Tell it to me slowly . . . Tell you what? I really want to know . . ."_

Something was going on here. These people were strange. But she decided it was none of her business if they wanted to ignore the obvious. She finished her spritzer and signaled O'Dell for another.

_"_Moldy Oldies!" Linda said.

"Classic Rock!" Glenn countered.

"Are you taking requests?" Leif asked from the corner.

Glenn swung his stool around. "Normally, I wouldn't. But since I'm drinking on your penny . . . What would you like to hear?"

Leif smiled. "You know, Glenn . . . My favorite."

Glenn made a mocking bow and went to the Wurlitzer. There was a moment of silence and then Posey heard a bittersweet arpeggio from an electric guitar. She laughed despite herself. Who would have figured Leif for a Metallica fan?

"_So close, no matter how far. Couldn't be much more from the heart . . ."_

A new voice came from a darkened booth. "What have I told you about listening to that stuff?" Posey recognized Randy, still in his custodian's uniform. A glass of red wine sat before him on the booth's table.

Leif laughed. "I know -- too depressing."

"Damn straight! It'll bring you down. Make you fade."

"Count your blessings. It could have been worse . . . Randy. I could have asked for 'The Unforgiven.' "

"You COULD try listening to something cheerful," said Randy.

"Cheerful? Like Mozart, maybe? Wolfie's my man!" Leif shut his eyes and began to sing in a clear tenor voice: '_O lachrymosa, dies illa . . ." _Even more amazing, his notes were in a perfect counterpoint harmony with the melody from the jukebox. How did he do that, Posey wondered; mix Mozart's Requiem with Lars Ulrich and James Hetfield?

"Point taken," Randy said.

_"Every day for us, something new . . .Open mind for a different view . . ."_

Leif cast a wink in Posey's direction. "Randy's a Stones man, all the way."

"Hell yes! Sir Mick is my hero. The dude never let anyone tell him it was time to get off the stage."

"Would you like some Stones next . . . Randy?" Glenn said. "Start Me Up, or maybe . . ."

"Another time. I have to go. I have a hot date."

"Someone I know, I hope," Leif said.

"Definitely," Randy said, uncurling his body from the booth. For a moment, while he stood in the doorway, his hair was turned into a ruddy halo by the streetlight outside. And then he was gone.

_"No, nothing else matters . . ."_

The rest of the evening passed in a haze of wine and good fellowship. Even drinking spritzers, Posey found herself developing a pleasant buzz. She laughed with Glenn, who was really a very witty conversationalist. She played a game of pool with Linda, who beat her, although Posey made a good showing and might have won if she hadn't scratched the cue ball. And she was talked into shooting a round of darts with Leif, who predictably beat her too, although she sensed he was holding back to spare her feelings by not making the rout too ignominious. By last call, most of the others had left, and Posey found herself in a small group, which consisted of Linda, and three men, Leif, Gary and Glenn.

The group spilled out onto the street. The humid air of the July night hit them like a moist curtain, along with the smell of the city. They were all a little drunk and giddy as they walked the four blocks back to the Rivers building. There was almost no traffic at this time of night, and they had the street to themselves.

He was on them before anyone could sense the smell of cigarette smoke over the reek of the hot asphalt and the hydrocarbon tang of the streets. He stepped out of an alley, gun in hand.

She had forgotten that long hair and pale skin could be ugly. This man's was both. His hair was oily and unwashed. His skin was pasty with the lack of sun caused by a nighttime existence, and he was pimply. His eyes were the worst; cold and dead like those of a shark. She might have forgiven desperation -- poverty or even the hunger for drugs -- but this one was merely a predator, and the city had too many of his kind.

He demanded their wallets and everything else of value they might have. She froze in fear. Linda, and the two men, Gary and Glenn fell silent also. Leif held out his hands in a gesture of placation.

"Easy, buddy, you'll get what you want. Just don't hurt us."

Posey could see the mugger's lips curl in contempt. He was used to getting what he wanted.

"I'm going for my wallet now," Leif said nervously, lowering his hand to his pocket.

Then, faster than her eyes could register, his foot kicked up and the gun was flying down the alleyway. Leif had the mugger pinned up against a wall with his arm twisted behind his back and a knife to his throat. It was the same knife he had used to cut the plastic from the strangled duck earlier in the day, and it was a big one.

"The tables are turned, aren't they?" Leif said coldly. "You thought you had some easy pickings tonight, but look how things have changed!" He tightened his grip on the knife, and a trickle of blood ran down the man's neck.

"I feel merciful tonight, but don't count on such luck ever again. You go free, but I suggest you find a different way of making your money. If our paths cross again, you die. And the next time you feel like preying on a 'little faggot' or a helpless woman, just remember that there are more of US out here than you know."

Leif gave the man a shove that propelled him at least ten feet. He tripped, fell, picked himself up and ran off into the night. "Whew!" Leif stretched and shook out his shoulders. "That'll clear out the old cobwebs!"

He had barely broken a sweat. None of the others seemed perturbed. Posey gaped. She was experiencing the interesting effect of too much alcohol and too much adrenalin in the same bloodstream. "Aren't you going to call the police?"

Leif shook his head. "Bad idea. They'd probably run me in too for carrying this." He held up the knife before returning it to his clothing. "I can't risk being arrested. Besides, that scare I threw into him is going to put a damper on him more than any jail time would. Gary, will you take care of the gun?"

Gary had retrieved the revolver from down the alleyway. "Sure thing. By tomorrow, this will be lying at the bottom of the Chicago river with all its little friends."

"I'll see that Posey gets home safely," Glenn volunteered.

"That isn't necessary," she said. It was just a short walk to the El and then another short walk to her apartment.

"Oh, yes, it's necessary," Leif said. "Dad really hates it when I keep the employees out too late and get them killed or worse. Linda, is your car back at the garage? Mine too -- I'll walk you to it."

They all split up outside the Rivers building, and poor Glenn had to listen to the babbling of a very wide awake drunk on the train ride home and the two blocks to her flat. It consisted of, "Did you ever see anything like that?"; "Leif kicked ass!"; and "Ranger friend? Does that mean Leif was Special Forces?" repeated over and over. To which Glenn patiently replied each time that, yes, he had seen something like that before and yes, Leif had indeed kicked ass. He left the last question unanswered, which led Posey to conclude that whatever Leif had done in the service, it had been top secret. Glenn even seemed to take her blatant admiration of Leif's martial arts prowess with good grace, as if adoring females gushing over Leif was nothing new either. Before she knew it, they were at her door. He helped her get her key into the lock, made sure she made it through the vestibule, and then walked off into the night with a parting smile.

ooooooo

A/N "_A! Aragorn, sen i ardh i muddannem an edraith?" _"Oh, Aragorn, is this the world we fought to save?"

Phrase translated by Dreamingfifi at Merin Essi ar Quentelli.

Lyrics to 'Time of the Season,' which is played as background in this chapter, belong to Rod Argent of The Zombies. Lyrics to 'Nothing Else Matters' belong to Lars Ulrich and James Hetfield of Metallica. The words to the 'Lachrymosa' from the Requiem Mass belong to the Holy Roman Catholic Church and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart respectively. I believe the last is within the public domain, but I like to give credit where credit is due.

_To be continued . . _.


	5. Trust I Seek

Summary: A modern day woman lands a job that is too good to be true at a mysterious toy company, where things are not as they seem. Has she strayed into a dream? Drama; humor. Characters: All the usual Mirkwood suspects and an OFC. Rated PG-13 for innuendo and naughty language. AU. In this chapter our heroine meets the boss and deals with her ex. Special warning for this chapter: Strong language.

Disclaimer: The characters and the world of Middle-earth belong to JRR Tolkien. I merely borrow them for a time. I am making no money from this. Beta-reader for this story is IgnobleBard. Le hannon, Bard!

**Not Fade Away**

**Part Four: Trust, I Seek**

Monday morning, there was a note on her desk telling her to report to Aaron Rivers' office at 11:00. "Oh, crap!" she thought.

She took the elevator three floors up with a sense of apprehension. Glenn was behind a desk in the reception area, and he immediately smiled and put her at her ease. "There's absolutely nothing to worry about. You've been here three months and he wants to meet you, that's all."

He opened the door to Rivers' office and sent her in. The executive suite was nothing like Leif's informal corner office one floor below. Her eyes flicked over dark wood paneling, oriental rugs, and oil paintings. She recognized an Edward Hopper, a Cézanne, and a portrait of a beautiful dark-haired woman on a garden bench, which had to be a John Singer Sargent. This last painting hung above the mantel of a working fireplace.

Rivers himself stood with his back to her, silhouetted against an eastward facing window, holding a glass of red wine that glowed like a ruby in the light off the lake. He was tall, elegantly slender and wearing a suit that she first mistook for Armani but then realised must be custom tailored. He was staring out at the water, where a fleet of sailboats skimmed the waves and white birds rode the currents of the summer breeze.

"Gulls," he said. "It was a long time before I could watch their flight or hear their cries without feeling bitter. Now, at last, I can appreciate their beauty."

She gasped. The voice, the mane of golden hair; they reminded her of . . . "Randy!" she said, as he turned to her with a slow smile.

"You must forgive me, Ms. Walker. It's an old trick of mine. You'd be surprised to know how much you can learn about a person's character from the way they treat the janitor. If you had, how shall I put this . . . gone all yuppie on my ass, the interview wouldn't have turned out so well, no matter how much my son liked that drawing of yours."

"Your son . . ." she began, rendered incoherent by the masculine beauty of Aaron Rivers in his normal state. Now that he was not hiding his light under a bushel, so to speak, she could see the resemblance to Leif, but this man looked no more than a few years older. Certainly not old enough to have a son in his twenties. "But how . . .?"

"I try to keep myself in good shape," he said gently. He was enjoying this, she realised. And he seemed to be quite aware of the effect he was having on her.

"You were in the bar a few days ago."

"Ah, that. They're all used to my foibles, and they play along. Sometimes it's good to set aside the trappings of authority and just be . . . Randy. It's one of the benefits of being as rich as I am, Ms. Walker. People indulge you."

He went over to a credenza and poured a second glass of wine. "Please indulge me now, and join me in a glass. It's Chateau Margaux, '75. Not my favorite vintage, but it's quite drinkable."

She wasn't sure she should take it. She'd be no use to Leif or Gary for the rest of the day. Rivers seemed to sense this and chuckled. "I'm their boss, Ms. Walker. If I say an employee can have a glass of wine with me, she can have a glass of wine. I insist."

She smiled and took the glass.

Rivers raised his own in a toast. "To borrow a term from a friend of mine -- Le Chaim!"

"One of your diamond traders?"

"No," he laughed, "my tailor."

She took a sip. The wine was delicious -- quite heady for someone used to the cheap stuff.

"So, how do you like working for us so far?"

"It's wonderful," she said. How could it be other than wonderful in a place where a lowly graphic artist got to drink wine with the incredibly handsome owner of the company?

"Is that what you told Agent Duncan and his partner when they approached you?"

She snapped out of her dreamy state. "Not exactly. I told them I liked working here and that I'd seen nothing to make me change my mind about that. I also told them to . . ." piss up a rope was the term that went through her mind, and she saw Rivers' lips twitch in a smile. " . . . leave me alone," she finished.

She found herself looking into his eyes and she remembered Randy telling her that they needed no polygraphs here.

"I believe you," he said. "Unfortunately, this will be only the first of many times you have to deal with people who are unfriendly to me. What did they accuse me of this time? Money laundering? Gun running? Or worse?"

She shrugged.

"My detractors have not bothered to read their own holy books. I have cast my bread upon the waters, and it has, indeed, been returned to me tenfold. The irony is that the more I try to give it away, the richer I become. I have more than I need; I have more than any one person needs. Why shouldn't I share it?"

She thought back to the executives of Titanic insurance, who had deprived an entire office of workers of their livelihood in order to squeeze a few more dollars profit for themselves. She sincerely doubted that the savings had been passed on to the customers. And she thought about the mugger of a few nights before, so willing to take from those weaker than himself. "It's a dog eat dog world, Mr. Rivers. Most people can't see it any other way. So of course they assume you're up to no good."

"Even dogs behave better, Ms. Walker. It may sound trite, but my pleasure now is to make the world a better place however I can. Otherwise, all this," he held up his wineglass and gestured around at the room and its luxurious appointments, "would be hollow. I would become no more than an illusion myself."

He paused and held his hand up to the light in the same gesture he had used in the elevator, and she wondered what this man's strange obsession with his forearm was all about.

He turned and fixed her in his gaze. "I think they tried to frighten you, too. Tell me, Ms. Walker, are you frightened of me?"

She took a sip of her wine and stared into his eyes. He was handsome, friendly, outwardly kind, and he had an undeniable charm. Just like her ex-husband. It was hard to find trust after that. It would be all too easy to be bowled over by all that manly beauty, but she sensed that there was something wild and dangerous just beneath the surface. Even his son, the soft-spoken Leif, had turned into something quite different in the blink of an eye.

He winked at her. "It's probably just as well. Trust needs to be earned."

An intercom buzzed. "Aaron? Felice is here." The voice was that of Glenn, from the outer office.

"Well, Ms. Walker, I won't take up any more of your time. If Duncan or any of his ilk trouble you again, just let me know. And don't let my son keep you out too late."

"You know about that?"

He cocked a teasing eyebrow at her. "I know everything. Especially where it concerns my son. Very little he does surprises me anymore." He took her arm and guided her from the office.

Out in the reception area, a woman was sitting on Glenn's desk with her long legs swinging. Her face brightened when she spied Aaron. "There you are, Darling. Time to do your husbandly duty. You owe me an afternoon at the Art Institute."

"The Prairie Style exhibit?" Glenn asked.

"Yes," Aaron said. "I wouldn't miss it, even if I weren't on the board of directors. Frank was one of ours."

Posey stayed back, feeling intimidated by the stunning beauty of this young trophy wife. Once in her presence, Rivers' entire demeanor had changed. He had eyes only for Felice. He kissed her gently on the cheek and made some introductions.

"Sweetheart, this is Mariposa Walker from the art department. Ms. Walker, my wife, Felice."

Felice smiled, hopped off the desk and held out her hand. "So you're the one who drew that leaf that my son was so enchanted with. Do you know, he has it framed on his wall at home?"

No, she hadn't known that, but the information was lost in the rush of surprise. This was Leif's mother? Praise the Lord and plastic surgery! Posey was seriously considering getting some of her own if it worked this well. Felice Rivers, in addition to looking absolutely lovely and unbelievably young, also looked strangely familiar. She was dark-haired, delicate (Posey could see where that half of Leif's looks had originated) and she was wearing the sort of simple summer tunic and loose trousers that had to have cost a small fortune. Around her neck was a necklace of silver and moonstones that matched her pale grey eyes. Now, where . . .?

Aaron and Felice got on the elevator, and the door closed behind them

"He gave you some of the Margaux, didn't he?" Glenn said with a sigh.

She nodded, just as it hit her. She whirled to look at the Sargent portrait, which she could see through the open doorway. The woman in the portrait was Felice Rivers. She was even wearing the moonstone necklace above the bodice of her Edwardian gown.

Glenn rolled his eyes. "It's too strong for this early in the day. Poor dear, I had better get some food into you," he said, as he shut the door into Rivers' office. "Otherwise, you'll be seeing things."

ooo

Summer had turned into fall. Posey sat in The Harp at the end of a workday, waiting for the rest of the gang to arrive. There had been no more visits from Tweedledum and Tweedledee, as she had begun to think of Duncan and Fitzhugh. There had been no more muggers after closing, although she had been spending many an evening with Linda and the group here at O'Dell's. Despite that, Glenn seemed to have adopted her and insisted on seeing her home safely each night. He was such a nice man; she didn't mind the company on the train home and on the walk to her door. One of these nights, she was going to have to invite him in for coffee.

The job was going well. The current gamescape was a dark, brooding forest, and it had become clear to her why Leif had mentioned the ability to draw a giant spider. The webs alone had given her the shivers.

A shadow passed in front of the green shamrock neon sign, and the door opened. She looked up, expecting to see Linda or Leif, and her face fell.

"Hello, Sue. I looked for you at work and they told me I could find you here."

"Hello, Michael." She wished she could say it was good to see him, but it wasn't. "Does your new girlfriend know you're here, talking to the ex? You don't want to risk making her frown. You know how expensive those Botox injections are."

"Bitter, Sue? It doesn't become you."

He was right, for once. Bitterness didn't become her. She sighed. "So what brings you here?"

"Nothing much. Just tying up a few loose ends." He paused to light a cigarette. When had he taken up that nasty habit? Probably he had done it to impress his sophisticated friends, but already Posey could tell his fingernails were stained yellow.

Immediately, O'Dell showed up and pointed at the no smoking sign. "Out with it." Michael glared, but stubbed his cigarette out.

"I thought we were through with all the loose ends last April," Posey said.

"Something came up."

"What? You had a better lawyer than I did." Better lawyer -- hell, she had barely had a lawyer at all on what she'd been able to afford.

"Something I didn't expect. The thing is, I invested some of the money from the student loans, and now that it's time to sell, there's a . . . formality."

"You what?"

"I took the money from the student loans and bought stocks. You were making enough to pay most of my tuition, and I could get a higher rate of return on the stocks than the interest on the loans. It was a smart move."

It was a smart move all right, except that he had never told her he was doing it. "You didn't tell your lawyer about this, did you?"

"Ah, no. It was all in my name, and since I was taking on the debt, I thought there would be no problem."

"Please tell me you didn't lose it!"

"No, I'm selling at a profit. But you just need to sign off on a few things so I can liquidate and pay off the loans. It's a technicality; just because we were married when I bought them." He shoved a stack of papers over to her.

She looked at them, first dubiously, and then with a growing anger. "You let me work my butt off to pay your tuition while you bought stocks with the loan money?"

"Honey, I took the risk, so I should take the profit. I was going to take the loss if things had turned out different."

_'Were you indeed, Michael?' _she thought? '_If we had stayed together this debt would have been mine as much as yours.'_

"Honey, please," he said with a smile. "I could be in some trouble if you don't help me out here."

She was angry, and as bitter as Michael had said. But she couldn't help thinking of her early morning talks with Linda and the words Leif had used with the mugger. Mercy. She didn't want his money, and for all the things he had meant to her once upon a time she didn't want to see him hurt. "All right. Where do I sign?"

"Here. And here, and on the next page. I've highlighted everything in yellow marker."

All the better not to distract me from the fine print, she thought. But what the hell? Let's just have it over with.

She took the pen and set it to the first line. "Not so fast." A long fingered hand grasped her wrist.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"A friend of Mariposa's," said Glenn, who had slipped in quietly and sat down beside her.

"What the fuck business of it is yours what she signs?" Michael sounded angry.

Posey was a bit annoyed herself. Glenn had no business treating her like a child, and she shot him a glare.

"No harm in running this past our lawyers before signing," Glenn said evenly. "Especially since legal representation is an employee benefit. I'll just take these."

She saw the look in her ex-husband's eyes as he sized up Glenn. "Hanging out with that sort of crowd, Sue? Already? Isn't that kind of pitiful?"

"Gay is fine, as long as it gets the job done," Glenn replied pointedly. "Bye-bye, now." Michael shot a glare and stalked out.

"Since when is legal representation an employee benefit?" Posey asked.

"Since I decided that son of an urk couldn't be trusted. Aaron will back me up."

"I don't want to be greedy," she said, responding to the kindness in Glenn's eyes and calming down. "I just want to be shed of him."

"Maybe I've been hanging around Aaron for too long and I'm just being paranoid. I don't know much about taxes and legal liabilities. Let's let Sid and Morrie look it over before you sign anything, okay?" He smiled, and she smiled back.

"Glenn, what's an urk?"

He laughed. "It's my polite term for what your ex-husband is. They're better looking nowadays, but they're still with us."

"Polite is right. I've got my own name for him, but you'd stop thinking I'm a lady if I used it." She smiled. "I'm sorry about what he said about you. It was out of bounds."

Glenn shrugged. "I just let that kind of thing roll off. Old and gay, oh so old; thousands of years if all be told."

"W. B. Yeats! I did a paper on him in college," she said, with a smile of recognition. But that explained why Glenn was always such a gentleman when he walked her home. At least that meant fewer complications if she asked him up for coffee one of these nights. She wasn't sure if she was disappointed or not.

ooooooo

_To be continued . . ._


	6. Santa And His Elves

Summary: A modern day woman lands a job that is too good to be true at a mysterious toy company, where things are not as they seem. Has she strayed into a dream? Drama; humor. Characters: All the usual Mirkwood suspects and an OFC. Rated PG-13 for innuendo and naughty language. AU. In this chapter, we have a little harmless fun as Dale Toy Co. enters the holiday season.

Disclaimer: The characters and the world of Middle-earth belong to JRR Tolkien. I merely borrow them for a time. I am making no money from this. Beta-reader for this story is IgnobleBard. Le hannon, Bard!

**Not Fade Away **

**Part Five: Santa and His Elves**

As Posey understood it, the day after Thanksgiving was a special one at Rivers Enterprises. It was traditional for Dale Toy Company to hold an open visit with Santa Claus in the lobby to kick off the holiday season. Most of the staff did not celebrate Thanksgiving Day, and they had been busy decorating the lobby for the all day affair on Friday.

Posey herself, having no family to spend the holiday with, had wandered into work on Thursday. The gamescape had reached another level, yet another underground cavern, this time where the party was captured and held by strange woodland beings. The cave was labyrinthine, including a throne room, feasting halls, dungeons, and a cellar with a trap door, so Posey had much background art to do. There was also an armory, with many deadly weapons, and Posey had asked Leif if this would be the spot where the key to beating the level might be found.

Leif had smiled enigmatically and told her that, yes, the protagonist might free his friends and fight his way out of the cave by killing the leader of these sinister captors. It would even beat the level, but there would be consequences in the final level of the game if this happened.

So she had spent the day working on the details of a wine-flagon and a barrel until she had decided to give it up and join the others downstairs by decorating the lobby for the festivities.

Their combined efforts had been well worth it. The lobby looked like an enchanted forest, with tiny lights strung in the greenery and a twelve-foot decorated fir tree. A throne for Santa stood near the tree, and a maze of velvet ropes had been strung to accommodate the lines. Having worked on the decorating, Posey was eager to see the event itself.

When she arrived at 8:00 AM on Friday, the lines were already long, but the crowds of parents and children, directed by Hal and the other security staff, were patient and well behaved. She found her way to a long table at one side of the lobby, where Linda was handing out cookies. As she said good morning to her friend, she got her first look at Santa, who was none other than Aaron Rivers himself, with his long hair powdered white and wearing a false beard. And next to him, shepherding the waiting children, stood Leif.

Posey gasped. "That is SOME elf costume!" .

Linda laughed. "Yes, Leif takes his job as Santa's head elf very seriously.

He was wearing tight breeches, softly draped boots, and a long fitted green and brown jacket over a high collared shirt, and his hair was out of its ponytail and draped over his shoulders. He looked fantastic, even though the effect was somewhat obscured by a four year old clinging to his leg and a toddler in his arms.

Their older brother was on 'Santa's' lap, whispering into his ear. As Posey watched, Aaron said something to another man in elf costume who stood beside the throne, and he was handed a package, which he gave to the child.

"Who is that?" Posey asked, and laughed when she realized it was Glenn.

"He looks good in uniform, doesn't he?" Linda said with a chuckle.

"Did that little boy just get a microscope? Are they actually giving away those toys?" Posey asked. "Doesn't that get awfully expensive?"

"We can afford to be generous one day a year," Linda said.

"Who are all these people?"

"We send out word to the domestic abuse and homeless shelters and the other social agencies, but the event is open to anyone who wants to come."

"Don't some people take advantage? I see a few parents who look like they can more than afford gifts for their kids."

"Aaron says that those children need the example of generosity even more than the rest," Linda said. "A little kindness never goes astray. Strangely enough, we never seem to get repeaters from that kind."

Posey munched a cookie -- they were very good cookies -- and watched the procession past the throne. It was true. Every child came away smiling, no matter what he or she had been given. From the light in Aaron's eyes above the beard, it was plain that he was enjoying himself, and the look on Leif's face as he held the younger ones in his arms was one of an almost wistful joy.

"Look at my two men -- they're in their element."

Posey turned to see that Felice Rivers had joined them. She was looking lovely, as ever, in a tunic and loose trousers of red velvet. She wore her necklace and a tiny nametag that read, "Mrs. Santa."

"Leif had better look out," said Posey. "That baby is going to . . . Oh no! Please tell me that wasn't real leather he's wearing!"

"It's real leather," said Linda, laughing. "But Glenn will get it out. Glenn is good at that kind of thing." As she spoke, Glenn had produced a towel and was busily mopping Leif's shoulder, while the baby had been handed off to a grinning Santa, who was distracting it with a rattle.

"That's nothing. You should have seen what happened last year," said Felice. Then she sighed. "My son does love being around children. Twice, I hoped he might have some of his own, but . . . he seems to have given up on it. It became too painful for him, I suppose."

She turned and looked at Linda. "That's my biggest regret, you know; missing his childhood."

Linda's voice was soft. "You had no choice, Felice. And Aaron raised him well. Your mind can be at ease. No son ever had a better father."

Posey shook her head in helpless confusion. The other two women noticed and favored her with calm looks. "I was living in . . . the west," Felice said.

"California?"

Before anyone could answer, Linda startled, and all three women turned to see Hal, tensed like a cat and looking daggers at someone who had just come through the lobby door. While Posey had become used to Hal and the other security guards who manned the desk when she came in each morning, she still found Hal to be a little spooky.

"Oh, have they no shame?" Felice said. "Today of all days!"

It was Duncan and Fitzhugh, surveying the crowd and taking conspicuous notes, as if there were something nefarious about Santa Claus handing out toys to a group of children.

"I had better go deal with this," Linda said quietly.

"Better you than Hal," Felice said.

Calmly, Linda picked up a plate of cookies and wove her way through the twisting line of waiting parents until she reached the two agents at the door. Posey could see her offer the food to Duncan, who shook his head in refusal as if the cookies might be drugged. She could not hear what was said. Linda seemed to remain cordial, while the two men became increasingly upset and then left abruptly.

Linda returned, looking concerned. "This was not a friendly visit," she said. "I think they won't be back today, but this isn't the last we'll see of them."

ooooooo

_To be continued . . . _


	7. The Snare

Summary: A modern day woman lands a job that is too good to be true at a mysterious toy company, where things are not as they seem. Has she strayed into a dream? Drama; humor. Characters: All the usual Mirkwood suspects and an OFC. Rated PG-13 for innuendo and naughty language. AU. In this chapter, Rivers Enterprises comes under attack by A Modern Day Force of Evil -- The IRS.

Disclaimer: The characters and the world of Middle-earth belong to JRR Tolkien. I merely borrow them for a time. I am making no money from this. Beta-reader for this story is IgnobleBard. Le hannon, Bard!

**Not Fade Away**

**Part Six: The Snare**

Two weeks later, Chicago was having its first snowfall. Intent on yet another background -- this time a barren valley between two spurs of a mountain -- Posey had worked straight through lunch, and now she stared out as snowflakes whirled around the windows and obscured the view of the lake. At the beginning of a weekend, most of the other artists had finished their work and already left, so Posey had the Art Department almost to herself. Even Gary had gotten a phone call and taken off up the stairs, looking concerned. She decided to go down to the commissary for a bite to eat. She punched the elevator button, but when the doors opened she was confronted by strange men in suits, wielding carts filled with boxes of files One of them flashed her a badge and, with a look of annoyance, said, "Take the next one."

Obediently she waited until the elevator showed up again and stepped inside. Instead of going downward, she felt the elevator rising toward the top floors. The car stopped at fifty, and Glenn and Aaron Rivers stepped on. Both were weighed down with stacks of papers and both looked preoccupied.

"They couldn't have picked a worse time for this," Glenn was saying, "what with Sid and Morrie already back east, and most of the staff gone for the holidays."

"I think they knew exactly when it would cause us the most trouble," Aaron replied. "Sid and Morrie need to get copies of the warrants and subpoenas as soon as possible, and I don't trust the computers and phone lines here. I'm sure they have everything bugged."

"Damned IRS. Damned FBI," Glenn muttered. "You don't think they mean to follow up with an arrest warrant for you, do you?"

"I wouldn't put it past them. Tax evasion worked to bring down Capone when nothing else would. It won't stick, of course, but that won't stop them from trying to take me into custody. We'll send all of this from Lake Forest; I know the lines from there are secure."

"That's going to take forever."

"Not if everyone pitches in with the fax machines. Where's Leif?"

"The agents wanted to take all the hard drives. Leif and Gary are scrambling to get their precious game onto backup disks before it can get 'accidentally' wiped. He's almost done. He'll be along right after us."

"We need more hands." Rivers seemed to notice Posey for the first time. "Ms. Walker," he said with a sly smile, "how would you like to see where I live? A few hours work, and I'll throw in some dinner and more of that Margaux."

"Whatever you need. I'm happy to help."

"Ms. Walker, can you type?"

She smiled. Six years of transcribing insurance forms might not have been a complete waste after all. "Like the wind, Mr. Rivers."

"Even better. I have some laptops in the car. We can get a jump on transcribing these. Between the three of us, we'll have some of these papers ready to transmit by file by the time we get up to my house in Lake Forest. We'll save even more time on the faxing."

They took the elevator to the basement, where Hal stood waiting beside Rivers' car. He took three laptops from the trunk.

"You're sure these are safe? No bugs?"

Hal nodded. "I vouch for the car. No one's been near it. The compound too. They won't get in there. This building after today's raid . . .?" He shrugged.

"Good. Have Rudy and Orville do a sweep before we do anything sensitive here again." Rivers held the door of the limo open and ushered Posey into the back. She took the jump seat while the two men sat together on the back seat.

Rivers handed her a laptop and a stack of papers. "We'll send the originals to my lawyers by courier, but if they know what's in them ahead of time, they'll have some idea what the authorities think I might be up to this time. They can stop them in their tracks."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite sure, Ms. Walker, because innocence and good lawyers are a winning combination. It just takes a little time to prove."

Rivers slid the glass privacy panel shut, turning on a light to illuminate the rear compartment. "Let's get to work."

Posey barely noticed as the car moved through the city streets and sped northward along Lakeshore Drive to the Edens Expressway and I-94. From time to time she looked up to see Glenn's fingers flying over his keyboard. Aaron, too, was hunched over, his brow furrowed with concentration as he typed.

Posey had one search warrant completed by the time the car left the toll way and moved onto the wooded back roads of the northern suburbs. It was now nearing twilight, and the snow was coming down harder. Trying to read and type in a moving vehicle wasn't the easiest thing in the world, and she was glad she had never been prone to motion sickness.

The car fishtailed a little as it rounded a curve, and Posey realized that these were the very same weather conditions as on the night her parents' car had skidded across the center line to be hit head on by a Peterbilt. And at the same time, she remembered that in her eagerness to begin typing she had neglected to belt herself in. She began to feel for her seatbelt, which unfortunately was caught around the frame of the jump seat. As she struggled with it, Glenn made as if to undo his own shoulder belt.

"No," Aaron said, unfastening his own. "I'll help her."

He freed her belt and clipped it around her. He was returning to his own seat and reaching for his belt when the car swerved, skidded off the road and came to a sudden stop in the ditch. Aaron flew forward and his head smashed into the glass of the partition. Out of the corner of her eye, Posey saw something large and brown run past the side window and into the trees at the other side of the road.

"It was a deer; a blasted deer!" said Hal from the front.

Aaron lay in a heap on the floor of the rear compartment, blood welling from a gash in his forehead. He stirred himself weakly. "_Ir im? Man carnen_?" he said.

Glenn was out of his seatbelt in a flash and kneeling at Rivers' side. "_Avo 'osto, Thran. Im si_."

Posey stared in shock. That was not Welsh they were speaking. She knew it. What was more, Rivers' hair had been tossed away from the side of his head, and she could see his ear - his pointed ear.

The side door was yanked open and Hal's face appeared. "Are you all right?"

Glenn shook his head wordlessly. His face was a mask of concern. "He's badly hurt."

At that moment, Aaron let out a groan and struggled to his feet. He pushed past Glenn and Hal and left the car, making it only a few paces before he doubled over and began to vomit. Glenn ran after him and did his best to support the helplessly convulsing body.

"We need to get the bleeding stopped," said Glenn. "Here, hold my coat," he said to Posey who had left the car and come to his side. She could see Hal speaking urgently into a cell phone.

Glenn removed his sport jacket and then his shirt. He tore his shirt into pieces and wrapped them tightly around Aaron's forehead. Posey stared, as Glenn stood naked to the waist in the cold wind without seeming to notice. His bare chest seemed to glow in the twilight, and he was one of the most beautiful sights she had ever seen. And as the wind whipped his hair away from his head, she could see that he too had delicately pointed ears. Not human. These people were not human.

"Oh, no!" she heard Hal hiss, as there came a flash of headlights and a car pulled to a stop down the road. Out stepped Duncan and Fitzhugh. "_Gadad han_!"

"Don't be silly; they couldn't have planned a deer." said Glenn. "But if they use this excuse to get Aaron into an ambulance we'll never see him again," She saw Glenn and Hal exchange a panicked look.

"We can't let that happen," Hal muttered, and his hand moved toward the gun on his hip.

"No! Wait!" said Posey desperately. "There has to be another way!"

Thanking the fate that had led her to wear a button down shirt that day, she unzipped her jacket and gave her shirt a hard yank, popping off the top three buttons. She dashed off toward Duncan and Fitzhugh screaming, "Oh my God; oh my God, there's blood everywhere!" Mariposa Walker had no bra; Mariposa Walker needed no bra, and, whatever she might lack in the way of endowments, she was sure the two agents were getting quite an eyeful as she ran toward them.

Her shirt gaped and so did Agent Fitzhugh, who was a man, after all. Duncan seemed to be a little harder to distract. He was still focused on the wrecked car and the three figures beyond. She threw herself into his arms, trying to do her best impression of feminine hysteria. "So much blood! Ooh, I think I'm going to be sick!"

For good measure, she managed to get her legs entangled in Duncan's, and the two of them went down, knocking Fitzhugh over in the process. As the three of them floundered on the icy roadside, she heard the noise of an engine and saw a grey sports car pull up.

She saw Leif and Glenn hustling Aaron into the passenger seat, and the grey car pulled away in a flash of taillights and spraying snow. The two agents struggled free of her and ran to their own sedan, taking off in hot pursuit. "So much for chivalry, assholes," she thought as she lay in the snow. One of the knees of her jeans was ripped, and her elbow felt bruised.

Glenn, wearing just his sport coat over his bare chest, reached her side and helped her to her feet. Hal soon joined them.

"They'll never catch Leif," he said with a smirk. "He'll lose them easily. I've called Orville, and he'll be here to pick us up and get us to the airport. Change of plans -- we're all of us heading east tonight."

She looked at them glowing in the snow, hair blowing away from pointed ears. Aliens. They had to be. "Well, I'll just be going now," she said carefully.

"You're cold and you're hurt, Posey. You need to stay with us," Glenn said.

"Oh, no, I'll be just fine on my own," she said with studied nonchalance. "I'll just walk to a phone and get myself a cab. It's no problem at all!"

She saw the two of them exchange another look. Hal sighed and pulled his gun. "I'm afraid we must insist," he said, pointing it at her heart.

ooo

She sat shivering, refusing to look Glenn in the eye as Orville's car drove up to the private hangar. She was taken onto a Learjet and strapped into a window seat, with Glenn sitting beside her on the aisle. Hal moved to the cockpit -- it was plain he would be piloting the craft. Glenn spoke soothingly to her, trying to get her to respond, but she was having none of it.

Soon the plane was in the air and they were out over Lake Michigan, leaving the lights of the city behind. Linda appeared from the rear of the plane, looking tired and concerned. She sat down in front of them and swiveled her seat to face Glenn.

"How is he?" Glenn asked.

"No skull fracture, as I'd feared, but he's badly concussed. I've stitched the cut, but the rest will have to wait until we get home. Leif and Felice are in the back with him, keeping him awake and talking. I don't envy them the task. He's going to have the mother of all headaches for at least a week."

"Headaches and Aaron are nothing new, nor is bad temper," Glenn said.

"We had a very narrow escape just now. If they had gotten their hands on him, I don't like to think what they would have done. Did you secure the car?"

Glenn nodded. "Bleach. Everywhere. Aaron is going to have to replace the upholstery in the back seat -- assuming the car isn't totaled."

"We owe Mariposa a debt of gratitude," Linda said.

Posey just looked at her miserably, remembering Duncan's tales of young women workers at Rivers Enterprises who had disappeared. She could see the tip of an ear poking through Linda's hair, now that she knew where to look. And with increasing horror, she recalled seeing Linda pocket her drinking glass all those months before. Her heart began to beat wildly. "You took my DNA! Why did you do that?"

"Please, Mariposa. You're safe," Glenn said helplessly.

"Why did you do that? Where are you taking me?" she said, breathing hard and beginning to feel faint.

"Oh, no!" Linda said. "This was too soon for her."

Linda reached out and took her face between her two hands. Posey felt herself drowning in the woman's eyes. She could not break the gaze. "Mariposa . . . sleep!"

And she slept.

ooooooo

A/N Translations: "_Ir im? Man carnen?"_: "Where am I? What happened?"

"_Avo 'osto, Thran. Im si_.":"Don't be afraid, I'm here."

"_Gadad han_!": "It's a trap!"

Sindarin translations are from Dreamingfifi's Sindarin Phrasebook at Merin Essi ar Quenteli. My thanks!

_To be continued . . ._


	8. If All Were Told

Summary: A modern day woman lands a job that is too good to be true at a mysterious toy company, where things are not as they seem. Has she strayed into a dream? Drama; humor. Characters: All the usual Mirkwood suspects and an OFC. Rated PG-13 for innuendo and naughty language. AU. In this chapter, questions are answered and we meet an old friend.

Disclaimer: The characters and the world of Middle-earth belong to JRR Tolkien. I merely borrow them for a time. I am making no money from this. Beta-reader for this story is IgnobleBard. Le hannon, Bard!

**Not Fade Away**

**Part Seven: If All Were Told**

When she woke, the cabin was bright from the daylight coming in the tiny windows. She felt the plane descending and realized she must have been roused by the sound of the landing gear dropping. Her right cheek was resting against the rough tweed of Glenn's jacket, and she had drooled on him in her sleep. There was a glistening snail track of her saliva down his lapel. Wonderful.

She felt his arm around her shoulder. Had he held her all the way from Chicago? He must have, because he was still shirtless beneath his jacket. She could smell his bare skin, a clean earthy scent that was so nice that she was almost reluctant to lift her head. She was no longer in terror, but her wild fear of the night before had been replaced by a strange passivity.

The plane set down gently. Hal seemed to be a good pilot, but of course being an alien, that was only to be expected. As the plane rolled to a stop, she sat up. Glenn was looking at her warily. She noticed that he had covered his ears again. She reached up and drew back the dark strands with her forefinger. "You don't have to hide them. I'm not going to freak on you anymore."

She followed him out the door, down the gangway and onto the tarmac. The runway seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. To the west was a wall of trees. To the east, beyond the runway's edge were swamps, and she could see a single snowcapped mountain off in the distance.

"Where am I?" she breathed.

"You're east of the sun and west of the moon, young lady. This spot doesn't show on any map. Roads run around it, and planes and even satellites fly over it without seeing. Anyone wandering in without our leave will find himself turned around and wandering back out without knowing."

She turned toward the friendly voice and smiled. Thank God! A normal human type person. He was a late middle-aged man in a brown jacket. Everything else about him was brown too, from his graying hair to his eyes, which held a gold-flecked twinkle. Just to look at him inspired trust, although she had no idea why this should be, considering the circumstances.

"Go easy with her, Wendell," Glenn said. "Mariposa has been through a lot in the last twelve hours. Mariposa, this is Wendell Brown, chief of security for all of the Rivers holdings."

"So I'm to be Wendell with her, eh?" He winked at her. "I suppose that name will do as well as any I have been given, most of which involve referring to me as the friend of birds and beasts, or simply, fool, as one of my brothers used to call me. Chief of Security is also a good way to describe me, I suppose. I'm the one who sets a girdle around this place and keeps the rest of the world out. Don't be afraid, Mariposa. Explanations will be forthcoming once we have all settled in. It is never good to keep your kind in the dark too long."

"But what is this place?" That mountain was beginning to look strangely familiar.

"It's the heart of Elvendom on earth, now that the Golden Wood is no more," said Hal, walking past. "Eryn Lasgalen, the Wood of Green Leaves."

"My word for it is home," said Leif, coming down the gangway ladder. Posey had never seen him looking quite so happy and at peace.

Behind Leif came Aaron, flanked by his wife and Linda. His forehead bore a large square of taped gauze. He walked slowly and seemed to be in some pain, but he moved under his own power, and he paused to nod to Posey with gratitude as he passed.

"And he," said Glenn, bowing his head, "is Aran Thranduil Oropherion, our last and greatest king. All of this still exists because of his strength of will, and the rest of us along with it."

This can't be real, she told herself. She must have cracked her head in that crash, along with Aaron, and this was a last hallucination of a dying brain. Or she was lying comatose in a hospital bed with tubes running in and out, and things could fade to black at any moment when the doctors decided to pull the plug on her. Might as well ride the dream while it lasted.

Some strangely dressed people emerged from the snow-covered trees, leading a string of horses. "I hope you're not afraid of horses, Mariposa," Glenn said.

"I rode a lot when I was growing up, although it's been a few years. No problem"

"Good. They're the main form of transportation around here, although, I suppose we could take you in by boat. Aran's rule -- no modern technology in the Homeland. Except for the satellite uplinks in the treasury vault. But only a few of us have access to that. Aran's not entirely daft."

"I will not be carried in a litter in my own realm!"

They turned to see Rivers arguing with Linda. "But Aran, your injury. You can't risk a fall."

"I've had worse, and I will not fall from my own horse. That is final; healer or no!"

"Ai! Stubborn," Glenn muttered. "Forgive me, Mariposa, I need to go attend him. You'll be all right with Wendell."

He hurried off, and there was a huddled discussion, which Rivers obviously won, because a large bay horse was brought around to him.

"You will use the stirrup to mount, and that is my order," Linda insisted.

"If I must," he replied, as if granting a great concession. But when he attempted to raise his foot to the stirrup, his weakness became apparent, and he faltered. Both Leif and Glenn rushed to his side. Glenn got there first, bowing and giving him a gentle leg up onto his mount.

This man, alien -- was it elf that Hal had called it? -- whatever he was, he was all about pride and a fierce independence, and the others seemed determined to bolster him in it.

She and Wendell went to their own horses. No bit, Posey noticed; the reins were attached to a simple headstall and noseband, and the saddle was little more than a leather pad with stirrups. It was quite comfortable once she was aboard. The women mounted, Leif executed an impressively athletic scissors vault onto his grey, and the entire train moved off toward the forest. To her relief, her horse seemed to be well trained, responding to simple voice commands and shifts of her weight.

The ride through the snow-covered woods took more than an hour at a gentle walk. Once, she saw Rivers urge his horse into a trot, grimace with pain and quickly slow down again. They had ridden along a river, and at last they reached a spot where a grove of bare beeches marched down to the banks in soldier-like ranks. A stone bridge spanned the river, leading to massive gates into the steep hillside.

Posey began to laugh softly, for she recognized this place. "Oh, Leif, what were you up to?" she whispered. She continued to smile as Aaron dismounted carefully from his horse and strode to the gates.

"_Lasto beth aran -- edhro_!" he said, throwing his arms wide, and the gates opened.

They all followed him inside, and the twisting, cavernous tunnels lit by blazing torches were much the same as Posey had drawn them, based on Leif's instructions. Two tall men, one silver-haired and one dark, stood waiting to greet them, and they bowed as Aaron passed.

Leif hung back and nodded a greeting. "Heya, Sid. How's it going, Morrie?"

"Not bad, Leaf, and yourself? You may be here an extra week or so this time while we prepare the injunctions and make sure that Aran won't be arrested on his return. Sid plans to fly back first thing after Yule to see to it."

Posey shook her head. A pair of long-haired, pointed eared corporate lawyers in velvet robes. This was looking more and more like she really was in a coma-induced hallucination. She turned to Wendell Brown. "I'd like to know what's going on, and I'd like to know it now."

"I think you need to settle in first, Mariposa," Linda said. "This has all been too much for you, too soon."

"Damn straight," Posey said. "Which is why I want to have some answers right now."

"I agree with her, Linda," said Leif, turning back to join the discussion as Aaron and the rest continued on. Posey noticed that Glenn looked back in concern, but followed his boss.

Leif looked down at her and smiled gently. "Ages ago, I looked into the eyes of a small boy who had questions. He was confused, and a little frightened, I think. I couldn't give him any answers then. My hands were tied. Now I find myself looking into the eyes of my friend again, and I won't make the same mistake." Leif's eyes were kind, and Posey thought she saw a hint of an old sadness there. He drew himself up, looking very much like his father. "Explain it to her now, Wendell. Or I'll do it myself."

Both Linda and Wendell nodded as Leif turned and left. "So says Legolas!" said Wendell with a wry grin.

Linda sighed. "He's so much more . . . forceful since he started questioning authority."

Posey stifled a sigh of her own as she watched him walk away. Aaron had always had a regal quality about him, but this was the first time she had seen Leif looking . . . she fished around in her mind for the right description, and she decided on 'princely.'

"Take Mariposa to the library," Linda said. "I have to see to Aran, but I'll join you as soon as I can."

"You don't need to rush on my account," said Posey, smiling at Wendell. Who could be anything other than fine in his avuncular company?

"We've had faintings during these interviews," Linda said pointedly. "It's good to have a healer present."

"Oh, bull! I've never fainted in my life."

"You came damned close on the plane last night." She turned to Wendell. "You get started. I'll be back"

Wendell led her up a long staircase and down several hallways. More than once, Posey hung back, transfixed by a detail of a carved banister or an embroidered hanging on a wall. If only she had known about these when she was drawing the background of Leif's game. There was a roaring fire in the library, banishing the cold of the winter day. Tapers burned in carved stone candelabra, and a faceted crystal set into the ceiling radiated light. The room was filled with the homey smell of old books.

"This is Leaf's office," Wendell said, as he took her into an alcove off the main room and directed her to sit on a low couch, "but I don't think he'll mind us using it."

He himself took a stool that he drew up from a drafting table. "This is never easy, no matter how many times I do it. Where should I begin?"

"I'll help you. Who the hell and what the hell are those people?"

"They are Elves."

"Elves? Oh, really? Obviously not the cute kind that bake cookies in hollow trees, or make the toys for Santa. Although they do seem to make toys, come to think of it."

"No, there is nothing cute or amusing about them. These are the elves that form the basis of the legends of the Faery and the Siddhe. They are the First Born. The Eldar. The People of the Stars."

"Oh, aliens. I thought so."

"No. Well, yes, in a way. Their First Fathers did come from outside, but they are natural to this Earth. They are more tightly bound to it than you, the Second Born are."

"In what way are they more tightly bound?"

"In the sense that they don't age and die."

"I see. So that explains why everyone looks so young. I'll bet they're hundreds of years old," she said brightly.

Wendell merely smiled. "Try thousands."

She began to look around for the hidden camera. It was all beginning to make sense. The wonderful job she got with no qualifications, the unbelievably good looking people, the strange happenings. She had to admire the production values on this program, though. It couldn't be some basic cable channel. This had to be network.

"I've actually lost count of how many thousands of years old they are, and of course it's different for each of them. Your world has a much older history than your schools teach, Ms. Walker."

"Do tell," she said amiably. She had always admired that Matt fellow on the original Joe Shmoe Show, being the butt of an elaborate practical joke and behaving like a consummate gentleman through it all. If she was going to be the prankee, she was going to play it to the hilt. "How does King . . . Thrandwill fit into it?"

"He fits into it by being one of the most stubborn and strong-willed elves ever to walk Middle-earth," Linda said, coming into the alcove and taking a seat beside Posey on the couch. "And one of the worst patients a Healer ever had to endure." She gave a weary sigh. " Although, I never met Feanor."

"I met Feanor and . . ." Wendell shrugged. "I think Thranduil rivals him. And so does his son."

He took a deep breath. "I'll give you the short version. Long ago, there was a war. The stakes were high; it was a war between Good and Evil. Leaf fought in it, and the Good side won, but at a price to all who took part in the struggle. The time of the Eldar was at an end, and all were called home. Those who remained behind were to eventually fade and be forgotten. This was the edict of the Valar.

"Leaf had seen the ocean and been taken by the call -- the Sea Longing. When the last of his mortal companions had died, except for one, he took that last friend and sailed west to the Undying Lands. Thranduil remained, torn between love for his son and the love of his realm and the people he had promised to lead. None of them had ever wished to leave their home for the lands of the West."

Posey felt glad that this was just a prank. The story was beginning to sound too sad otherwise. "So these 'undying lands' are elf heaven? This doesn't sound like a happy ending to me." She couldn't help thinking of a Mark Twain book her father had owned, Letters From the Earth, in which Twain had pointed out that heaven, as described, was most people's idea of deadly boredom.

Wendell sighed. "Yes. It was a living death, especially for one so used to challenge as our Legolas. But then something happened. Leaf did a thing that had never been done except for once. He decided to forsake Aman. He has told me few details, but he insisted, in a way that only Leaf can do, that he be allowed to leave, either to return east to the lands of his birth, or, failing that, to the west to join his mortal friends in death. I understand that he laid his case before the Valar, and of all of them, it was Aulë and my dear Yavanna that first supported his petition. And then Vaire, for he had been her uncomplaining servant all along. And in the end, the Lady Varda Herself.

"They opened the Straight Road for him and let him go, to sail east, along with a group of others who were like-minded, but it was at a price. None of them might return, and they must share in the fate of those Eldar who remained in the Mortal world. To fade and become nothing. He came home, Mariposa, thinking he would die in the only sense that an elf can. He came home to be with his father at the end."

She felt her eyes misting. If they thought this was going to be funny, it wasn't. "So who are these 'Valor?'"

"Ahhh," Wendell sighed. "Now we get to the hard part to believe. The Valar are the gods themselves. Or as you might understand it, they are Archangels."

She snorted, even if it was going to cost her big bucks in advertising contracts once this show aired. "I don't believe in angels. I don't even believe in God."

"You don't have to. What is, IS, however you choose to define it. I was there at the making of the Music, and even I cannot explain or understand if fully. What I do understand is that we are all beings of energy, clothed in flesh."

"You were there? I suppose you're some kind of angel too?"

"As a matter of fact -- yes I am."

"Oh, please! I'm trying to be a good sport, but you simply can't expect me to believe that!"

Wendell sighed. "Linda, hold her hand," He smiled at her, took a deep breath, and the friendly middle-aged brown man disappeared as the veil lifted. She saw light and beauty and something young yet unimaginably old.

"Stop it, please stop," she whimpered.

"Mariposa, put your head between your knees," she heard Linda saying, and she immediately obeyed, until the buzzing in her head stopped. "I wish you wouldn't do that, Aiwendil, "Linda continued sharply. "It unnerves even me."

Posey raised her head carefully to see that the familiar brown-haired man had returned. All right, he was an angel, and there was no way this was a hidden camera TV show. The coma scenario was back at the top of the list. 'So, what happened then? Why didn't they all fade?"

"Most elves did, elsewhere. The legends tell of the pixies and the Pookah Sprites. Some even became dangerous for the Second Born to have dealings with. But not Thranduil's folk. At first, he meant only to preserve his forest and his people in it, but in time he realized that would not be enough. The world needed rebuilding and healing, and Men needed to be taught and nurtured. Leaf had understood this when he had healed the forests of Ithilien, while his mortal friend Aragorn was still alive. Now Thranduil began to do the same. And as I aided him in this, I began to understand why my dear Yavanna had insisted I be sent from the West along with the wiser ones of my order.

"There are still those who believe that Radagast the Brown turned away and failed in his mission when he fell in love with the birds and the animals of the Mortal lands. But they needed a protector, and that need increases with every passing age. The Elves need a protector now too, as Thranduil goes about his task of fighting the long defeat."

"Defeat?" Linda laughed. "Look around you, Wendell. There are more of us now than there were at the end of the Third Age. I think that stubborn elf is actually winning."

"At least, as long as he fights and there is a job to do in this world, you don't fade," Wendell said. "And that is victory enough."

"So how do I fit into all of this?" Posey asked.

"Over the years, there have been unions between Elves and Men, and there have been progeny. Those children are not immortal, but they have some of the spark of the Eldar in their natures. Those children go on to have children of their own, and so on. And sometimes, even after many generations, the old strain breeds true. Whenever we find someone like that, we nurture them, if we can, so that their talents are not lost to the world."

'And I'm someone like that? Is that why you took my DNA?"

Linda nodded. "Not that it made a difference -- you had talents that were going to waste if we hadn't stepped in to help. For you, if you had gone on as you had been going, it would have been the Mortal equivalent of fading. Your husband had robbed your spirit, and you needed healing."

"So that was it. You were healing me." Her heart fell. Linda was a healer, and she had been doing her job over the course of what Posey had thought was a friendship.

"And you need healing still, if that's how little regard you have for yourself. The friendship was real, Mariposa. It was real from all of us. You have so much to offer, and some of it you have already proved. Glenn tells me you were a sight to behold, flying across that snowy ground. You did your ancestors proud."

Posey grinned. "It would have given my parents a kick to see me saving the day by flashing some bare chest, that's for sure."

"I wish I could have met your parents," Linda said. "They sound like some of our own too. But I meant some more distant ancestors."

"Yes," Wendell added. "You come from a very special line. You and I are distant relatives, in a way."

"It's nice to have the technology to confirm it," Linda said. "But we've always been able to tell. Leaf had meant to hire you regardless, because your drawing showed you had our kind of spirit and he had fallen in love with your leaf, but he told me he knew the minute he met you and found himself staring into his old friend's eyes. He's seen this many times before, and it's always a bittersweet thing for him."

"Many times?"

"Yes, many times. The world is full of the descendants of Aragorn and Arwen, and much of what is good has come from them. You're one of many, but it's always good for us to find one of you."

"So, what happens to me now?" she asked.

"Mostly whatever you want to happen," Wendell answered. "You will live your life, and hopefully with our help you will make it count. The years will be kinder to you than to most, but in the end, you will age and you will die and leave the circles of this earth. It's the way of things, my dear."

"And you will still be here."

"As long as we have a reason for living; as long as we listen to Thranduil and don't succumb to sadness and inertia, we will not fade," said Linda. "And we'll be here to face the end, whatever that might be."

Mariposa looked at her. "Life without end or rest, or dying and becoming nothing -- I don't know which is the more terrifying prospect."

"I know," said Linda, and the sadness in her eyes made Posey finally believe.

ooooooo

_To be continued . . _.


	9. The Sorrows Of Her Changing Face

Summary: A modern day woman lands a job that is too good to be true at a mysterious toy company, where things are not as they seem. Has she strayed into a dream? Drama; humor. Characters: All the usual Mirkwood suspects and an OFC. Rated PG-13 for innuendo and naughty language. AU. In this chapter, our heroine takes a tour of Mirkwood's toilet facilities and meets a Mortal spouse.

Disclaimer: The characters and the world of Middle-earth belong to JRR Tolkien. I merely borrow them for a time. I am making no money from this. Beta-reader for this story is IgnobleBard. Le hannon, Bard!

**Not Fade Away**

**Part Eight: The Sorrows of Her Changing Face**

Posey was led through the corridors and showed to her room. "You'll be next to my bedchamber for this visit," Linda explained. "It's best to have me near until you know your way around this place."

The room had a large bed with hangings, a tall wardrobe, and a washstand with a pitcher and basin. Posey looked around for the door to the bathroom.

"This is it, " Linda said, reaching under the bed. "A chamber pot, if you want to avoid the walk down the hall to the privy."

"And where is that?"

"Come, I'll show you. There are privies and washrooms on every level."

"Multi-story outhouses?" Posey said. "Then I really hope we're on the top floor."

Linda laughed her tinkling laugh. "Glenn made the same joke back in the Third Age, when Thranduil first laid out his plans for the caves."

"Then great minds must think alike," Posey muttered.

"Don't worry -- they're staggered from level to level. Here we are," she said as they reached the end of the corridor. "This is the _cirth_ symbol for males, this other is for females. You will learn them in time, but for now all you need to remember is right and left."

The privies were in an interior room, each partitioned off for privacy and covered by a wooden lid and seat.

"A word to the wise," Linda said. "Do not drop anything down them that you do not wish to lose, and keep the lids shut. From here the waste drops to a gently sloping chamber at ground level where gravity takes it slowly toward the outlet. By the time it reaches the end, it has broken down from its own heat into compost, but the process takes years."

"This isn't unpleasant at all," Mariposa said.

"The chamber is well vented to the top of the mountain. It's the next best thing to a flush toilet. And the water outlets are in the outer room, for washing or filling your pitcher for your washstand. Turn the pipes either way to make the water flow."

"How do you manage running water in a cave?"

"There's a river flowing through the base of the mountain. We use windmills to pump it to cisterns at the top and gravity does the rest." Linda smiled with more than a hint of self-satisfaction. "There was a time when our realm was considered backward. I once overheard a Noldorin ambassador from Imladris sneeringly refer to our cave as a low rent Menegroth, but we had running water and decent toilet facilities when Elrond's folk were hauling their water from wells and using pits dug into the earth."

"What about bathing?"

"The boilers are lit mornings and evenings so that you can draw some hot water for washing. It's possible to bathe in your room if you ask for a tub, but it's much easier to use the bathing pools in the cellars. Just ask me, and I'll take you there."

"Maybe later. I'll just have a quick wash and lie down for a while. This has all been . . . a lot to absorb at once."

"Of course, Mariposa. Have a rest. And I'll be having a word with Hal about pointing his gun at you." She sighed. "Once a warrior, always a warrior, but he makes my job difficult at times."

Once back in her room, Posey fell onto the bed in exhaustion. Just a short nap, she told herself. She shut her eyes.

ooo

When she awoke, the crystal in her ceiling was still glowing and the candles in her wall sconces were still burning, but she noticed that clothing had been laid out on the bed beside her. The pitcher at her washstand had been filled, and she stripped off her ripped jeans and torn shirt and had a wash before putting on the new garments.

The clothing consisted of pull on trousers and a long loosely fitted tunic with a split skirt. No underwear. Which made her wonder if everyone around here did without it, and, with the image of Leif and Glenn and the rest of the males going commando, she decided it was best to put the thought out of her mind entirely.

A sensation in her bladder made her wonder just how long she had been asleep, and she left her room and headed for the privy. Out in the corridor, she met Leif, headed in the same direction and carrying a chamber pot. He grinned and shrugged impishly. "That's life on 'The Rez.' Good morning, Mariposa. You slept a long time."

Morning? That explained the need to pee and how hungry she was.

"They called you something yesterday, Linda and Wendell did. Laygolass?"

"That's my name," he said. "Legolas, Greenleaf, at your service -- at least I'll be at your service once I lose the pisspot," he said with a wink.

Leif/Leaf -- very funny, she thought. He still managed to look utterly dashing, even outside the privy door, holding his own chamber pot, she told herself with a little mental sigh. To her surprise, he began to chuckle. "What? It's almost as if you can read my mind."

"The older we get, the more we can sense the thoughts of mortals," he said. "I try to stay out of other people's minds, but sometimes your thoughts are as plain as if they were written on your forehead. I'm very flattered."

She immediately turned bright red and excused herself, using the Midwich Cuckoos tactic of thinking about a brick wall, before the term 'commando' could cross her mind. Too late; she heard a snort of laughter as the heavy wooden door of the women's section of the privy shut behind her.

ooo

"What are they doing?" Posey asked, as elves pulled a heavy sledge carrying what looked to be a six-foot evergreen tree past them. The wooden runners scraped on the stone floor of the cave's entrance chamber.

"Today is the Solstice," Linda said. "We celebrate it with an ancient custom."

Glenn came from the direction of the great stone gates, fussily brushing snow from his shoulder. "A snowball," he said, in response to Linda's unspoken question.

"Leaf?"

He shook his head. "Hal. But I acquitted myself well. Master Haldir is out on the bridge, shaking two fistfuls of snow out of the back of his tunic." Glenn seemed rather pleased with himself.

Linda rolled her eyes. "Men. A little snow and you turn into elflings. Did Leaf choose a good one?"

"Of course. I don't understand how you managed to keep Aran indoors, though."

"That was Felice's doing," Linda said. "She has an infallible method for keeping Aran in his room, and while he's not healthy enough to go tramping through the woods, he is well enough for that activity."

Glenn grinned. "Would that the Lady Healer would prescribe such a pleasant remedy for me! Good morning, Mariposa," he said, as the three of them followed the sledge to the throne hall. "I hope you're finding your stay here enjoyable."

Posey nodded. She was more curious about the fir tree, which was being removed from the sledge and set into a tub. She noticed a root ball, wrapped in cloth. "It's a Christmas tree?"

"Not exactly," Linda said. "It's an _Avorren_ custom, celebrated in Greenwood since the early part of the Second Age. Although, I suppose word seeped out and it became the basis for the German Tannenbaum. We'll keep this one in the throne hall until the first day of Narvain -- the Yule, and then we'll plant it back in the forest."

As Linda spoke, other elves were filing into the throne hall. The last ones in were Felice and Aaron, followed by Leif, carrying a carved wooden casket. Felice had a rosy glow on her cheeks, Posey noticed, and Aaron was looking very relaxed. The box was opened, and its contents were hung on the tree -- rings, brooches, bracelets and necklaces, their gems sparkling brightly in the reflected torchlight. The last out was a little necklace of silver and pearls, which Aaron ran though his fingers with a fond smile before hanging it at the very top of the tree.

At the very last, Felice reached up and removed the crown of holly berries from her husband's yellow hair. She hung it on the topmost branches, saying, "I dub thee Lord of Misrule." There was scattered applause, and Aaron laughed deeply.

"For the days between the Solstice and Yule," Glenn explained, "that tree is our king, and Aran has himself a well deserved rest from the rigors of leadership."

"What happens if something important comes up between now and Yule?" Posey asked, half seriously.

Glenn made a wry face. "In that case, I imagine the tree would have to consult Aran. And now . . . we party!"

Someone struck up a harp and pitchers of wine began to circulate. Mariposa noticed that Aaron headed toward a small group of elves, one of whom was the dark-haired lawyer who had greeted them upon arrival. Seated at his side was a white haired woman who looked to be in her eighties. She already had a glass of wine in her hand and she raised it in a toast as Aaron joined them.

"One more year, Aran!"

'One more year, Tovah, " he replied, saluting her with his own glass. "Le Chaim!"

"Who is that woman?" Posey whispered. "I thought you elves didn't age"

"Magorion's -- you know of him as Morrie -- wife is a mortal woman. Morrie and Tovah spend most of their time back east here in the Homeland now that they've reached the stage where the explanations would prove to be difficult. It's always awkward when a spouse is mistaken for a parent or grandparent." Glenn sighed. "The next few years will be hard for Magorion. They always are when a mortal spouse reaches the end. Most of us don't have the courage to try it. Leaf did twice, and I know it was painful for him -- so painful he seems to have given up on it."

"You mean Leif's two wives were . . .?"

"Mortal women, yes. He always had a fondness for mortal females."

Mariposa nodded. So that was what Linda had meant by 'not his type.' "What happened to them?"

Glenn sighed again. "They died. That's how it is with mortals."

"And there were no children?" Posey asked, remembering Felice's cryptic words.

Glenn shook his head. "Elf women seem to bear children to mortal men quite readily, but with the elf men . . . it's not quite so easy. It's rare that a marriage like that produces children. That's why it's been worth it for Magorion. He and Tovah have a daughter. You would have met her except for the fact that she didn't come east this year. Her daughter-in-law just had her first child, and she's staying home to take care of the two of them."

Posey looked over at the group where Aaron laughed with Magorion and his wife. The dark haired elf was as youthful and handsome as all the rest, looking the same age as Aaron. A great-grandfather! And yet, the look on his face as he gazed upon his elderly wife was one of loving adoration. And why not? To him, she must be incredibly young. "Was she beautiful?" she asked softly.

"She IS beautiful, Mariposa. Especially to him. You mortals are so vital, so fleeting, and we elves find it enchanting because it's something we cannot do ourselves."

Mariposa looked around the stone chamber. Everything was so beautiful, yet so strange. The tall pillars carved of the living rock, the burning torches, the tree with its jewels, and the people themselves, all young and lovely beyond description. Leif and Gary -- she wondered what Gary's real name was -- stood talking as casually as if they were in The Harp at home, yet instead of their khaki trousers and button down shirts, they wore tunics of shining fabric and their hair gleamed in the torchlight. Linda had wandered over and stood at Leif's side. Just as at home, she never met his eye, nor did he meet hers as she laughed with Gary. And suddenly it became all too much.

"I think I need to powder my nose," she said lamely.

"Your nose looks just fine," Glenn said.

"I need to go to the privy," she said pointedly. Gosh, these elves could be annoyingly literal most of the time.

"I'll take you --" Glenn began.

"No! I can find my own way. Please!" She nodded curtly and practically ran from the hall. Out in the corridor, she leaned back against the rough stone wall and shut her eyes. She didn't have to pee; it had been an excuse to be alone. Hearing voices, she ducked into the nearest doorway.

The chamber she found herself in seemed to be some kind of museum display room. The walls were hung with tapestries depicting strange and ancient scenes. There were weapons too -- a bow and quiver, a long sword with symbols on the blade, two slender knives with what looked to be ivory handles -- either on stands or hanging on the wall. The rear wall of the chamber had a mural that must have spanned fifteen feet from side to side. Mariposa approached it slowly with a soft smile of recognition.

It was a moonlit scene depicting a large meadow with low hills and three slender white towers in the background. She knew it well, for she had seen it in her childhood coloring book and on the wall in Leif's office back in Chicago, but nothing could have prepared her for the beauty of the original. The horses and the riders were almost life-sized and the detail was rich. Many of the faces in the group of riders were familiar to her. Hal sat on a black horse in the third row and many of the people she worked with back in Chicago were in the ranks. At the head of the train, on a grey horse, was Leif, and beside him rode Felice.

"No father ever had a better son."

Mariposa jumped and whirled to find Aaron standing behind her.

"My boy came home to me, and he brought her with him. He had to defy the gods themselves to do it." Aaron smiled at her sadly. "Mariposa, have you ever had a moment when all seemed lost to despair and then suddenly things reversed direction?"

She smiled back. "I think I've had one of those moments. Yes."

"I will never forget that long ago day, when the birds began to bring whispers of a group of Elves riding eastward across the plains of the Anduin. That very morning I had fancied I saw the light of the candle flame through my own hand, and I had feared it was the first sign of the end for me. Instead, it was a new beginning.

"Imladris had been deserted for many a year and Lothlórien was empty. Even the Havens held only a few of Cirdan's folk, awaiting the last stragglers out of Ennor. The elves of Ithilien had drifted back home to the Greenwood, once the rulers of Gondor had forgotten the old friendships. So who could it be? I rode out and met them, just inside the forest gate." Aaron paused and shook his head, lost in the old memory. "I couldn't believe my eyes. And when I finally believed it was true, I didn't know which one of them to embrace first."

The names and the places were all Greek to her, as was the history, but the human drama was universal. "Let me guess -- you hugged your wife."

Aaron let out a laugh, this time hearty. "You have that right! My father, bless his memory, he didn't raise any fools. But it wasn't long before I hugged my son. Parting from him had been almost as bad as losing her."

Aaron paused for a time, a poignant pause. "Don't ever tell my wife I said this to you, but I'm glad my son's marriages produced no children. It has been a great sadness to him, to be sure, but his children would have been mortal and he would have had to watch them age and die just as he saw his wives do. My son has loved and lost many friends in his time, and he has borne the loss with courage, but I think that losing a child to death would have been beyond even his strength. I will not risk seeing him fade from that grief."

Posey had no idea how to respond to that.

"And to think I have a dwarf to thank for all of it," Aaron continued. "If you had told me, I would scarcely have believed it. Dwarves were always my enemies, until my son became friends with one and made me put my mistrust aside. Leaf has told me very little about his time in Aman, but he tells me that his friend Gimli is buried near the forges of Aulë, and that his dying words were, 'I loved you, Laddie, but don't you dare burn that boat.'"

"Dwarves? Do you mean Little People?"

Aaron laughed. "They may be short, but there is nothing 'little' about them. They stay in their mountain now; they have a harder time passing in the modern world than my people do, but I couldn't have done it without Durin's folk. My best jewelry comes from Erebor, and many of my toy designs as well. You saw the mountain on your way in. I'll take you through it some time -- either this visit or the next."

Mariposa shrugged. "I'm sorry. This is all so much to take in. The names, the history, the places. I don't even know what to call you. Aaron? Mr. Rivers? Your Majesty?"

He threw back his head and laughed. "You could call me Randy for all I care. This is my week off, after all. But Aaron will do as well as anything. 'Aran' means king in our ancient tongue. It's my idea of a joke. I do love puns," he said with a wink.

She laughed politely. "It's hard to get a pun when you don't speak the second language."

"Give it a year, Mariposa, and you'll be speaking Sindarin like one born to it. And maybe reading a little _cirth_ as well. Let us teach you. That's what we're here for."

"This mural," she said. "The style looks very familiar, but I can't read the signature. Is that the _cirth_ you're talking about?"

He nodded. "The style should look familiar. It was done by your supervisor, Gary. Glavras, second Elven-lord of Ithilien. If you had asked me when he was just a young archer, I would never have predicted our Glavras had a talent for painting, much less leadership. But my son saw something in him and took him to Ithilien as his second in command. Glavras ruled the colony for three hundred years after Leaf . . . sailed." Mariposa couldn't help noticing that Aaron's face clouded and his voice still caught when he said the words. "He did a fine job of it too, just as he and Legolas have done a fine job of creating that landscaping company. I'm proud of the two of them."

"There's a question I need to ask. With this beautiful forest to come home to, why are you living in Chicago, of all places?"

Aaron shrugged. "We had to come out of the Woods and live in the world of men eventually, or fade. We've spent much of the preceding ages in the Old World -- Europe -- but when travel became easier, we were called west to the Americas. Part of it was the frontier. The skies were wide open in the New World, and that's attractive to someone like me who wants to make a fortune and use it well. But the other reason . . .

"When the _Belair_ opened the Straight Road and let my son come home, they played a cruel trick. They neglected to take away his Sea Longing. I suppose this is the price they exact for one who defies them. He tells me it's like an itch he can't scratch, and while he says he's grown used to it and considers it a fair trade for his freedom, I don't entirely believe him. America is the closest he can come, physically, to the Undying Lands, the lands to which he is called but can never return. We elves began beside the waters of an inland sea, Cuivienen, and we have come full circle at the waters of Michi-gami. As long as we can come back here to recharge our spiritual batteries from time to time, I'm content."

"One more question. Those young women Duncan told me disappeared while working for you. Where are they?"

Aaron made a face. "Oh, he WOULD tell you that. One of those young women is a brilliant businesswoman, and she has become the new head of our Singapore office of Whitestone Shipping. Duncan would know that if he could manage to find his own behind in broad daylight with both hands and a blazing torch. And the other is married to Magorion's grandson and is presently at her home in Lake Geneva, resting from the birth of her first child." He paused and smiled at her. "You can trust me, Mariposa. You can trust all of us."

ooooooo

_To be continued . . ._

**Author's Note:** The little necklace of silver and pearls that Thranduil hangs on the Solstice Tree is the one given to him by Bilbo Baggins at the end of The Hobbit.

**Translations:  
**_Avorren_: Sindarin word for Avarin  
_Belair:_ Sindarin word for Valar  
_Cirth: _The Runes of Daeron, the writing system of the Sindarin/Silvans of Eryn Lasgalen


	10. Go, Leaf, It's Your BDay!

Summary: A modern day woman lands a job that is too good to be true at a mysterious toy company, where things are not as they seem. Has she strayed into a dream? Drama; humor. Characters: All the usual Mirkwood suspects and an OFC. Rated PG-13 for innuendo and naughty language. AU. In this chapter, The Woodland Realm celebrates a very special occasion.

Disclaimer: The characters and the world of Middle-earth belong to JRR Tolkien. I merely borrow them for a time. I am making no money from this. Beta-reader for this story is IgnobleBard. Le hannon, Bard!

**Not Fade Away**

**Part Nine: Go, Leaf, It's Your B-Day**

Time passed. The Yule came and went, and the tree in the throne hall was divested of its jewelry and returned to the forest. Life in the cave settled into an easy routine for Mariposa. Every morning, right before the noon meal, she went to the library for lessons in the lovely lilting language they called Sindarin. The elves took turns teaching her, on an informal rotation among Leaf, Linda and Glenn, although Aran had showed up once, and so, on one memorable occasion, had the older mortal woman, Tovah.

Tovah spoke her English in a heavy accent that Posey found hard to place. While she was reaching for a pen, Tovah's sleeve had fallen back from her wrist, revealing a faint line of numbers tattooed on her left forearm. Noticing Posey's blink of surprise, Tovah had smiled sadly.

"Sobibor. I was a teacher in my native Poland, so when the Nazis came, I was doubly cursed in their eyes. A Jew and an educated woman -- they couldn't have that. I ended up in the camp there, and I was one of the lucky ones who survived to fight in the breakout.

"I was wounded and separated from the rest when we fled into the woods. I don't know how long I wandered before collapsing and lying down in the snow to die. When they found me, I thought the angels had come for me. But it was my Morrie and the one they call Haldir. They brought me back here and when Aran heard my story he sent them out again to bring in as many as they could. For the next few years, these halls were crammed, and the mountain too. I bless him to this day!"

She sighed. "It wasn't his fight, and in saving as many of my people as he could, he lost a few of his own. I know what a sacrifice that was. But, oy -- you should have seen them fight! I went back out with them many times until I was shot again," she indicated her leg and the walking stick she used, "and there was no more fighting for me. But I can't complain. How else does a Rabbi's daughter from Kosalin, who expected to spend her life as an old maid, end up with a handsome husband who thinks a limp and grey hair are, how do you say it, sexy?"

ooo

Mariposa was still thinking about that conversation when she bumped into Leif in the corridor.

"I'm glad to see you, Mariposa," he said, a smile lighting his face. "I have a little something to give you, and it will be too hectic at the feast tonight."

"Feast?" she asked. Did these elves never stop partying? "What's the occasion this time?"

He dropped his eyes a bit. "It's rather embarrassing, really, the thirteenth day of Narvain is my Begetting Day, and Father always insists on making a big fuss. After all these years, I'm used to it."

"I suppose a father might be understandably proud of a begetting," she said dryly. "Do you people actually know that sort of thing?"

Leif laughed. "For us, it's one year to the day before our births. This is the equivalent of my birthday, for it is indeed the day I came into the world."

"It's always that predictable?"

"Our bodies work perfectly. At least nearly always," Leif said, his face clouding briefly. "But here, I hope you like this." He placed a small package wrapped in parchment into her hand.

She broke the wax seal bearing Leif's acorn symbol, and opened the package. "Oh my!" she said, her eyes beginning to mist. "This is beautiful!" She held a flat piece of carved light stone with a wide, shallow bowl and another deeper well in the upper right corner. Around the edges ran a tracery of vines and leaves in an Asian design. Along with it was a fine fox hair brush and a dark rectangular block of solid ink with Chinese characters embossed in gold.

"It's nothing very expensive," Leif said, sounding almost apologetic. "It isn't jade or anything like that -- just soapstone. But the ink stone is Nineteenth Century Chinese. You would use it for Asian brush painting, but I thought it would come in handy for learning your _cirth_."

"I don't know what to say," she protested. "I don't have anything for you."

"You don't have to. On my Begetting Day, I'm the one who gives a present to everyone else."

"Please don't tell me this is another elvish custom!"

"No," he said, smiling softly. "This custom is one of my own, in honor of some very old friends."

"You'll bankrupt yourself!"

He laughed and gestured around him. "How could I ever be poor with all of this?"

"So, what are you giving your father?"

Leif grinned impishly. "What DOES one give the man who has everything? In this case, I give him what I've given him on my every Begetting Day since my fiftieth. I deck myself out like the Yule tree and wear something very special."

"And what would that be?"

He favored her with an enigmatic wink. "You'll see!"

ooo

Her stay in the caves had seemed like one long party, but this night was special. The wine was the best; the cooks had outdone themselves. Aaron sat at the head of the table in robes of gold to match his hair, and he seemed to gleam in the torchlight. Beside him, Felice wore a gown of soft dove grey velvet, and in her dark hair was a slender circlet of silver. There was always a palpable affection between the two of them, Mariposa had noticed; but it was different tonight. Felice seemed to lean into her husband, and often, his hand would stray to her forearm and rest there, stroking. They were lover-like.

"She's like the moon to his sun," Mariposa whispered to Linda, who was seated beside her at the high table.

"Tonight is a special anniversary for them. A beginning, an end, and a new beginning," Linda replied with a sigh. And if they are the sun and the moon, here comes the Earth."

A murmur of drawn breath passed over the hall as Leif entered, bowed to his parents and sat down at Aaron's other side. He wore a velvet tunic of forest green, with tiny gems at the collar and silver embroidery on the sleeves. And in his pale hair was a circlet as fine as Felice's.

"He looks just like . . ."

"A girl in that crown," Linda finished for her. "He will do almost anything to avoid wearing it, except disappoint his father. And, I am amused to tell you, Aaron looked the same way in that crown when he was the Prince of the Greenwood. He felt the same way about it too." She smiled. "And the rest of us thought they were beautiful."

Mariposa laughed softly. "Is it polite to ask what he gave you today?"

"No, but I will tell you anyway," Linda replied good-naturedly. "Leaf gave me a book he bound himself. Shakespeare's Sonnets, transcribed into Sindarin and written by his own hand. A sweet gift."

Mariposa looked sidelong at her friend. Just how clueless was Linda, anyway? She looked up and caught Glenn's eye as he sat across the table. He winked and raised his glass.

_'Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediment_,' Mariposa thought. And then she looked down the table to Magorion and Tovah. _'Love is not love that alters as it alteration finds.' _Truly, she would never understand these elves if she lived a thousand years, which she knew she would not. Why waste a precious minute, even if you have all the time in the world?

The dinner had ended and the tables were cleared away. The harps came out and the dancing began. The wine continued to flow.

Mariposa had yet to understand the music and the dances of the elves. The music was wild in its notes and its rhythms, sounding like Romanian folk tunes to her untutored ears. She would never have attempted the dances herself, as most were a series of intricate leaps and twirls, all in a circle. Leif, as the guest of honor that night, was dancing every dance. Linda, as usual, stayed on the sidelines with Posey.

"Why don't you get out there and dance?" Mariposa said, after seeing Leif flick them a surreptitious glance for what must have been the tenth time that evening.

Linda shook her head. "I've never mixed in. I'm not very good at it."

"Nonsense," Mariposa said. "It's Leif's birthday and I think you owe him one." Before Linda had a chance to protest, Posey had taken her by the arm and propelled her out into the circle. Meril, who had been dancing with Leif, fanned herself as if in sudden exhaustion and stepped aside, leaving him unpartnered. Taken by surprise, Linda had no choice but to join in with good grace.

For all of Linda's bashfulness about dancing, she was the personification of grace as she and Leif leaped, twirled and circled about each other. Leif's pale hair caught the torchlight, and the gems at his collar glinted like so many tiny stars, but his eyes had gone dark. Mariposa felt a subtle change come over the room as heads turned ever so subtly and eyes began to keep a discreet sidelong watch on the dancers. Mariposa sensed Glenn stepping up beside her, and he stood swaying slightly to the rhythm of the music.

Posey had seen this dance before. At the end, it was traditional for the couples to touch in some way, usually palm to palm, or touching foreheads. Some of the married couples would even kiss lightly on the lips if enough wine had been consumed.

One of the harpists missed a beat during the last measures of the tune, so intent was he on the dancers. As the music died away, Leif stood staring at Linda. He reached out and touched his hand to her cheek, tentatively at first, then, as she reached out to him in return, he caught her hand and kissed the palm.

No one in the hall drew breath as the couple stared into each other's eyes. And then Leif kissed Linda full on the lips and kissed her hard. Linda seemed to draw back for a moment and then her arms were clasped around his velvet-clad shoulders, hanging on as if there was no tomorrow.

_'I'll bet she's seeing stars,' _Mariposa thought as the kiss drew out.

The kiss and the embrace broke. Leif had Linda by the hand, bowing briefly to his parents before he and Linda left the hall, practically at a dead run. Posey could not help but notice that Aaron was grinning like a fool and clasping his laughing wife around the shoulders.

_'Sometimes,' _Mariposa told herself, _'all it takes is a little push across the floor.'_

"Well, who could have seen that coming? Only me . . . Since the Napoleonic Age!" The tone was decidedly ironic, and a little slurred.

"Glenn, are you drunk?" Posey asked.

"Without a doubt," he answered. "I've been drunker, but not often. Would you mind, Miss Mariposa, taking a walk in the night air with me while I clear my head?"

They took some cloaks from a room near the gate. "Used to be the guardroom" Glenn muttered, "but there's no need for guards anymore. Orcs and spiders are all gone." Outside, snow was falling soft as soap flakes and a full moon made the forest glow brightly enough to read by.

A few yards up the path into the forest, Mariposa promptly sank up to her knees in a snowdrift. Glenn, who was having no trouble in the snow, turned, laughed, and fished her out. "Sorry, I forgot," he said, as they retreated to the end of the bridge. They stood in the pool of light from the bridge torches, and watched the half frozen river flow sluggishly past beneath.

"Oh, well," Glenn sighed, "I'm not a one for moonlight strolls in the woods anyway. In the old days, it was suicide, and I've never really been able to develop a taste for it. Are you all right here?"

Posey nodded. "I'm fine. A little chilly, perhaps." The temperature was not cold enough to freeze the river solid, but it was still enough to chill even a constitution used to Midwestern winters.

"Forgot about that too," Glenn said. "Here, come on under." He held his own cloak wide and wrapped it about her.

She huddled under his arm, sharing the heat of his body, and finding it disturbingly enjoyable. He stood a head taller than she did, and his torso was lean and muscular for someone who spent his time at a desk. He smelled just as nice as he had on the plane ride. _'Damn,' _she thought, _'it's too bad he's gay.'_

"But I'm not," he whispered, turning her to him and kissing her.

Whoa! It was Posey's turn to see stars, as she tasted the sweet mixture of red wine and Glenn. And that answered at least one of her nagging questions about elves. There was a Tab A to fit into Slot B just like with regular people. And from what she felt poking into her midsection, Tab A was more than adequate to the job.

"Passion," he murmured, pulling back at last. "I never thought that I'd feel it again. After all these years! What am I going to do with you, Mariposa?"

"What would you like to do?" she said, fresh out of witty remarks.

"It's only the wine that gives me the courage to say this, but I'd like to take you back to my bedchamber and do with you what I very much suspect our prince is doing with our Lady Healer as we speak."

"Well . . .?"

"It's . . . a little more complicated than that."

Jeez Louise! Elves! Posey thought. Always making things more difficult than they had to be. "So what's the problem? You seem to be in working order, liter of wine or not!"

He laughed. "My prowess has never been an issue. It's just that we take these matters very seriously. If I bed you, I wed you. And that's the long and short of it."

"You mean you don't . . .? That Leaf and Linda are . . .?"

"Yes, Mariposa. You saw a wedding tonight. A very hasty wedding, to be sure, but quite legal and proper by our customs. Often, we wait a little while for courtesy, but if I know Thranduil, he has been wanting to lock those two up together for the last two centuries, just to get the suspense over with for the rest of us."

"So, it's the 'code of the forest' that if you sleep with a girl you have to marry her?" That did make things a little more complex.

"Not 'have to,' Mariposa. If we ah . . . consummate, we ARE married, according to ancient custom. Lately, Sid has been suggesting that it might also require the vows to make a spiritually binding contract, but so far no one has been willing to make the experiment."

"Wow," she said. "That must complicate your sex lives!"

Glenn sighed. "You have no idea."

"Well, I understand how you might be reluctant to take such a big step with a mortal." Posey stared down at the snow as it collected on the thin ice sheets bordering the open currents of the river. About her own willingness to make a commitment with Glenn, she was not so sure. His friendship had become indispensable over the last months. He was always at her side, making her laugh, looking out for her. And now the prospect of something more...

"No, my dear little Butterfly. You mistake my meaning. It's been such a joy watching you come out of your cocoon over this last year. It awakened feelings in me that I haven't felt in ages. You have my heart. For me, the bond is made, for better or worse." He paused and held her a little closer. "But . . . you need to know that I was married before."

"Glenn, I was married before, in case you've forgotten. I could hardly object if you had a few exes here or back in Chicago."

"She's farther away than Chicago, I'm afraid. My first wife died a long time ago, in the early years of the Shadow's fall over Mirkwood. We hadn't learned to treat the spider bites effectively yet, and she was one of the first to be lost that way. Although, sadly, nowhere near the last."

"But if she's . . . passed on, why is that a problem for us?"

He sighed. "We don't die. Not really. If our bodies are destroyed by accidents or trauma, our _faer_ - - you would call them souls -- are called to the Halls of Mandos in the West. After a time of healing, we're given new bodies. But we can't come home. The road to the West is one-way. Except for once -- and unfortunately, my wife chose not to accompany Leaf when he brought the others back. I don't know why -- fear of the Valar, I suppose. She was a good woman, I loved her, and I wish her well, but we are effectively parted, for I intend to meet the end of all things here, with my king.

"Equally unfortunately, according to our ancient laws I'm still a married man. After much thought, Aran has changed the rules to allow for second marriages, but that was only after his own conflict of interest had ended, and he had broken with the _Belair_ forever. When Leaf brought Felice back home to him."

Suddenly Felice and Linda's mysterious conversation at the Thankgiving party made sense to Posey. Living in the West. "Do you mean Felice didn't sail?"

Glenn shook his head. "Felice leave Aran for any reason? Hardly. No, she died soon after Leaf was born, and it nearly broke his heart. That's why I won't desert him." Glenn paused and burst out into a sudden fit of coughing.

Posey realized she had never seen one of the elves ill in any way. They sneezed occasionally, but never a cold or a cough. "Are you all right, Glenn?"

He shrugged. "I'm fine. The cold air irritates my lung. It's an old wound, but it never really healed."

"Some wounds never do," she said. He looked so handsome in the moonlight and the glow of the torches, and a little sad. Very quietly over the past months, he had become such a part of her life that she could not imagine being without him. His declaration of love was sudden though, and the thought of the sort of serious commitment these people required was rather daunting. Prudence told her she should take some time to think it over. But a small voice in her head whispered her own thoughts of earlier in the evening back to her: _Why waste a precious minute, even if you have all the time in the world?_

She didn't have all the time in the world. She only had the rest of her life, which she realized she didn't want to spend without this man. "Glenn, are you asking me what I think you're asking?"

He nodded. "But you deserve better than second best. I may not be able to give you children. And I can only vow to be with you for as long as you live. After that . . ."

Posey almost laughed. "My first marriage was supposed to be until death do us part. And all I got was seven mediocre years. I don't consider what you're offering to be second best. Children . . . we'll worry about that later. And let's let Eternity take care of itself. The answer is yes."

He smiled and kissed her hand. "I suppose you'll be wanting a long engagement . . .?" His tone was tentative, hopeful.

"Very long. Ten minutes at least," she laughed. "So, how do we do this thing?"

"We ask the blessings of Eru, the Allfather, upon our union, and we promise to bind ourselves to each other for as long as you shall live. You can make your vow to Jehovah, Yahweh, Vishnu, or whatever higher power you prefer. I'm open minded when it comes to religious matters."

"What does Eru mean?"

"The One. The Only."

"Then that'll do. But, Glenn, there's one thing I need to know first." She paused and a look of worry came over his face, as if he might lose her at this last moment. "What's your real name? I'd like to know the man I'm marrying."

He smiled and chuckled. "Galion. That was the name my mother gave me . . . a very long time ago."

They held hands while the snow fell around them, and Glenn helped her to recite the vows in Sindarin. That done, he put his arm around her and led her back toward the great gate.

"I love you, Galion," she whispered happily.

"I love you too, Mariposa. I promise that I will cherish you for all the days of your life and I will remember you until the breaking of the world. Now comes the good part."

ooooooo

_To be continued . . ._


	11. A New Leaf

Summary: A modern day woman lands a job that is too good to be true at a mysterious toy company, where things are not as they seem. Has she strayed into a dream? Drama; humor. Characters: All the usual Mirkwood suspects and an OFC. Rated PG-13 for innuendo and naughty language. AU. In this chapter, our heroine comes full circle and an announcement is made.

Disclaimer: The characters and the world of Middle-earth belong to JRR Tolkien. I merely borrow them for a time. Lyrics to the Song 'Not Fade Away' belong to Norman Petty and Charles Hardin. I am making no money from this. Beta-reader for this story is IgnobleBard. Le hannon, Bard!

**Not Fade Away**

**Part Ten: A New Leaf**

Whoever was it who said that April is the cruelest month? That person was wrong, Mariposa thought, as she stood in the back bedroom office of her third floor apartment. It was as neat as a pin now, unlike the homey clutter of the days she had lived there. This was her last time in the little room, for she had sublet the place furnished to a young divorced mother with two children, whom she had met through one of Aaron's charities, a shelter for battered women.

Her worn furniture and even her computer, old and slow as it was, would be a godsend to the woman starting to rebuild her life. Posey no longer needed any of that. Since their return from the east in late January, she and Glenn had lived in a comfortable suite of rooms in Aaron's huge house in Lake Forest, right next to Hal's quarters. And out above the old stables, with a huge window to let in the north light, was her very own studio, remodeled for her by Aaron as a wedding present. When Posey had thanked him profusely, Aaron had shrugged, his manner almost gruff. "I'm not being generous. I expect a return on my investment. When you're ready, I have the names of several gallery owners who'll be eager to sell your paintings. Don't look at me like that. You've made my old friend very happy, and that's worth more to me than emeralds."

Over the past months she had divided her leisure time between painting and this apartment, transferring out her old life, deciding which of it to leave and which to take with her. In the end, she had taken little, just the photographs of her parents and her books. Cleaning out her hard drive before f-disking it for her new tenant, she had come across the old saved email advertising the Jackrabbit and smiled at the irony as she deleted it. Of all things, that would be the last thing she'd need now, for her new husband was nothing but energetic. Mariposa had learned over the past three months that when an Elf came the earth moved, and the only thing a Mortal could do was hang on and enjoy the ride.

As she turned to survey the room one last time, her gaze strayed to the backyard outside. On the topmost branch of the tree, stood a single newly unfurled leaf. A different leaf. It had been one year to the day, she realized, since she had sat in that room and all had seemed lost. Now, her life had been renewed.

She laid her key on the desk for the new tenant and shut the door behind her.

ooo

The Harp was still empty when she arrived. As he had done every time since she had returned from the east, O'Dell nodded to her with a grave courtesy. "Big doings tonight, Mrs. Butler!"

"Yes, big doings indeed." Leaf's game, Quest For The Lonely Mountain, had at long last been completed and put on the market that day. Mariposa had taken the afternoon off to close up her apartment, leaving the rest of the art department behind to sweat out the suspense of the first day's sales figures, but there would be a party that night to celebrate the game's completion and release.

"Sean," Posey asked, "what's up with all the formality since I've gotten back to Chicago? It's just me."

"Ah, but Ms. Mariposa, you're one of them now. I saw it the minute you walked in the door last January."

"Them?"

He winked at her. "I may be a twenty-first century American man, born and raised here. But there's still enough of my fey Gaelic forefathers left in me to recognize when I've been graced with the presence of The Fair Folk." She caught his eye, and there was a twinkle in it. "So what will it be, tonight? Your usual Spritzer?"

She laughed. "Nope, tonight I'm throwing caution to the winds. Make it a Cabernet Sauvignon!"

"You've been hanging around that Randy fellow, haven't you! He has some expensive tastes for a janitor."

"You have no idea," she laughed, taking a sip of her wine. She swiveled her barstool around and leaned back against the bar, shutting her eyes and letting the wine work her mind. She was feeling rather mellow.

Until she heard the door open, and the barstool next to her sighed as someone sat on it. She smelled the odor of stale tobacco right away. Her mellow mood fled, but she kept her eyes shut.

"Hello, Sue."

"Hello, Michael. It's Mariposa now, just in case that had slipped your mind." '_It always was_,' she wanted to say, but she held her tongue, not wanting to spoil her mood any more than it already was. "So, what brings you here?"

"I saw some of your pictures in a gallery on Francisco Street. Nice. Was that brush painting supposed to be Mount Fuji?" She heard him take out his cigarettes and start to light up; then she heard Sean's pointed approach, and there was the rustle of the package and matches returning to a pocket.

"No. It was a different mountain. You wouldn't be familiar with it."

"I liked the oil painting of those beech trees in the snow next to the river. You have quite an imagination . . . Mariposa."

"That I do. I'm glad to see you've developed an appreciation for art."

He grunted noncommittally. "I met some old friends of yours outside my apartment last week. The tall one, Fitzhugh, I think his name was, asked me to give you his regards. He said he was looking forward to seeing more of you in the future."

Posey could not help an upward twitch of her lips. _'I'll just bet he would!' _she thought. She was not surprised that Duncan and his partner had not given up, even though a painstaking examination of the financial records or Rivers Enterprises by both the IRS and the FBI had turned up absolutely nothing and the case against Aaron had been dropped. Those two would be after her boss until the end of their days, and she was not at all shocked to find they had recruited a new spy on their behalf. "You can tell Agent Fitzhugh that the pleasure will be all mine. So how has life been treating you, Michael?"

She heard him sigh. "Not as well as I'd like. Thanks to your boss's lawyers playing hardball, my firm found out about that stock deal I tried to slip past you. I'm not going to be disbarred or anything, but I'm never going to be on the partnership track. What's worse, when Ashleigh realized I wasn't going to make partner, she dumped me like a ton of dirt fill."

Posey stayed silent and sipped her wine. So her name had been Ashleigh, had it? That figured.

"I don't know what I ever saw in her, Hon. I see now that I was an idiot, and I was wondering if you and I could get together, go out to dinner to talk over old times, maybe even give it a try again?"

In the first few months after he left, Posey had often lain awake, telling herself that Michael would come to his senses eventually and come crawling back asking for her forgiveness. Well here it was. He wasn't crawling, exactly, just doing his usual clueless strut, but it was a concession nonetheless. She had him right where she wanted him. The words of an old song ran through Posey's head: _"If my love were an earthly knight as he is an Elven-grey, I'd not change my own true love for any knight you have."_

True love. She had thought that was Michael, once. The temptation, after all that had happened was to hate him, yet she couldn't. All of his failings had brought her to the place in her life where she met Glenn. She opened her eyes and looked at him dispassionately. She noticed that his expensive suit had begun to hang just the slightest bit on his shoulders, and one of his front teeth was going bad. He was aging, diminishing, and the outside was beginning to match the inside of him. And to think that she would have loved these little imperfections, if only things had been different. If she had not been forced to learn.

She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Michael, but that ship has sailed."

"Sue, we were good together once. We could be again."

He looked so hopeful that she was moved to let him down easily. "Even if that were true, it's impossible. I'm re-married."

"What? Who?"

"You met him here last fall."

"You have got to be kidding!" he said. "He's . . ."

"Gay," said Glenn who had slipped in quietly and sat down beside them. "I've always been gay, but I'm even gayer now that Mariposa has given me something to be happy about." He put a proprietary arm around his wife and kissed the top of her head.

Posey resisted the urge to give him a surreptitious dig in the ribs. Glenn was enjoying himself far too much. "I can handle this, darling," she said with an edge in her voice.

"All right then. I'll just toddle off and see if I can find some good show tunes on the jukebox. Good to see you again . . . Marshall, was it?"

Michael was glaring as Glenn walked away. "You'd ditch me for that?"

"Unless you've forgotten, you were the one who ditched me, Michael." '_And he's twice the man you ever were or ever will be,' _she barely kept herself from adding.

"Well, if you ever come to your senses, you know where to find me," he said, trying to sound angry, but all he could manage was pitiful.

_'Right,_' Posey thought, as he left the bar. _'I'll file that idea right next to Agent Duncan's business card.'_

Michael crossed paths with Linda as he went past the green neon shamrock. She came in and sat down on the seat he had just vacated. "That does not look like a happy man," she observed.

"Maybe if I hung a string of garlic cloves it would keep him away, O'Dell said with a straight face. "What will it be, ladies?"

"Another Cab for me," said Posey.

"Mineral water," Linda said.

"So where's Leif?" Posey said conversationally. The door was opening and shutting frequently now and the bar was filling.

"He and Gary will be along. They had a few last minute sales reports to wait for. I wanted to join the fun right away."

"Couldn't wait to start drinking, eh?" Hey, wait a minute, Posey thought. This was the first time she had ever seen Linda without her traditional boilermaker. What was up with the mineral water? She shot her friend a questioning look. "Linda . . .? Linda!" she almost squealed in delight.

Linda nodded and smiled softly. "Yes. I am."

As if on cue, Leif and Gary came in the door. Gary was grinning from ear to ear and slapping Leif on the back. "This is wonderful news! When?"

"January."

"You're kidding!"

Leif shook his head. "There's an excellent chance that the baby and I will share a birthday." He flashed Linda a secret, loving smile before heading on back to the dartboard. He opened it, took out his darts, and, whirling gracefully, he sank a bull's-eye. "An ex-archer never misses his shot," he said with a smirk.

A deep voice came from a corner booth. "Will someone please get Secretariat here a drink to shut him up? All this bragging is . . . unseemly."

"Not to mention making the rest of us envious," said Glenn. He handed Leif a mug of dark ale. "Your horse piss, my lord." Mariposa could see that her husband was already three quarters of the way through his first glass of red.

"I see Aaron has been given the good news," Posey whispered. Randy sat at his usual booth, wearing his custodian's uniform, wine in hand. With him this time was Felice, cuddled tightly under his arm. She had hidden her dark hair under a newsboy's cap and she was wearing a red tee shirt and jeans. Posey stifled a giggle at the tee shirt. On the front, in _cirth_ that would have looked like an abstract design to an outsider, was written the phrase: '_Morben and Proud of It!'_

"Aaron and Felice were the first ones we told," Linda whispered back. "He's beside himself with joy, of course. Aaron waited a long time to become a father and an even longer time to become a grandsire."

"And you, Linda?" Posey asked.

Linda merely smiled. "I waited even longer. My life began beside the waters. I lost my first love to the Dark Hunter, and I thought I would never love again. I was among the eldest of a dying People, but for us, Leaf was a renaissance. Now our child will be born beside new waters. I think it all happened for a purpose. And I . . ." she paused and laughed. "I feel young once more."

The bar had filled by now, but the crowd fell silent as Leif held up his hands for attention. "Simmer down, everyone. I have an announcement to make."

Immediately there was a smattering of applause, a few whistles, and a muffled, "Go, Daddy!"

"No, not that!" Leif continued, grinning. "I see most of you already know that piece of news. It's impossible to keep a secret around you lot. No, I am proud to announce that the figures are in for Quest For The Lonely Mountain, and our game has beaten the previous records for first day's sales. The game is a success, folks! That means that we are definitely on to the next project. We'll begin the planning phase next week. Meanwhile, you all have my thanks."

As the applause died away, Leif joined Posey and Linda at the bar. He brushed a gentle hand across Linda's cheek, and she laid her head against his chest.

"I don't suppose you're willing to give me a little preview of the new game," Posey said, emboldened by the Cabernet.

"I don't see why not," he replied. "I am in an unusually mellow mood this evening. Imagine this, Mariposa -- grasslands, mountains, a volcano, and horses this time. Lots and lots of horses. Cities with white towers gleaming in the sun, and a creature of smoke and flame!"

"Will it have wings?" Posey asked. Although she excelled at background art, she had been told she would be doing some character illustration on the next game.

"Wings?" he said with an enigmatic smile. "You don't know how long I've waited to be able to explain this! A Balrog has -- "

He was interrupted by Glenn clearing his throat from his station beside the jukebox. "This next song goes out to an old friend of mine. A fellow who always seemed to take forever to move on to the next stages of his life. This one's for you . . . Gramps!" He hit the play button.

_"I wanna tell you how it's gonna be . . .You're gonna give your love to me."_

As the music of the Rolling Stones boomed out, Posey could see Randy shaking his head and smiling. Beside him in the booth, Felice was giggling and slapping him on the shoulder.

_"I'm gonna love you night and day . . . Love is love and not fade away."_

_"_Told you Randy was a Stones man," Leif laughed. "Excuse me, Posey. We'll finish this conversation next week. Right now, I want to dance with my beautiful wife." He pulled Linda to her feet and out onto the floor.

_"Your love for me has got to be real . . . Before you'd have noticed how I feel."_

Glenn was beside her now. "Dance with me, gorgeous?"

She nodded, and suddenly she found herself tight in his arms.

"Glenn," she laughed. "If we try to close-dance to one this fast we'll look like we're having sex standing up."

"And the problem with that is . . . what, exactly?" he whispered in her ear. "Look at Leif and Linda. They're not having any trouble."

Posey looked over at the happy couple, who seemed to be off in a world of their own. As usual, they were the epitome of grace. "They still look like they're having sex on their feet," she whispered back. "It's just very aesthetic sex."

"See?" Glenn replied, as if that settled the question.

Posey merely laughed and gave in to it. Glenn just felt and smelled so damned good!

_"Love that lasts more than one day . . . Well love is love and not fade away . . ."_

She looked past her husband's shoulder to the booth where 'Randy' sat with his wife close beside him. Man, elf -- whatever you called him, here was a being who grabbed life by the balls and would not let go. As if reading her mind, he winked at her, raised his glass of wine in a salute and silently mouthed the words, "Le chaim!"

_"Well love is love and not fade away . . . Not fade away . . ._

_Not fade away . . ."_

ooooooo

_The End_

**Author's Notes:** And here we leave them. After all I've put them through, this AU was my love letter to the Elvenking and his son, not to mention their faithful butler. Merry be the Greenwood while the world is yet young!

The line, 'If my love were an earthly knight . . .' comes from the Childe Ballad, Tam Lin.

Translation from the Hebrew: _Le chaim!_ : To life!

Translation from Sindarin: _Morben_: Dark-elf, the equivalent of the Quenya, Moriquendu

Ironically, as I write these words, a very dear friend is seriously ill and most likely passing. So, this story is dedicated to you, Heathen John! Le chaim!


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